


A Dozen Red Roses for My Darling

by raiining



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Historical, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Regency, references to suicide (though to them it's just discorporation)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: “But I don’t want to go to Yorkshire!” Crowley argued.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Pride and Prejudice and Angels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887922) by [SanSanFanFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan). 

> It's my birthday and so you all get fic!
> 
> HUGE thanks to nied who beta'd this for me in time to post today! Gifted to the wonderful Ralkana. Happy birthday, birthday twin!
> 
> This story is complete and will be updated daily. I was inspired by the wonderful Pride & Prejudice & Angels by SanSanFanFan, who did it first.
> 
> Side note: the title comes from an instrumental Queen song that was written for the Highlander film. Got to love those immortal idiots!

  


Chapter One

Mr A.Z. Fell Bookshop, London

1815

“But I don’t _ want _ to go to Yorkshire!” Crowley argued.

“_West _ Yorkshire,”Aziraphale reminded him, “which is supposed to be lovely this time of year.”

Crowley glared at him from under his top hat. “And how you would know?”

“Well,” Aziraphale started before trailing off. They stood in his bookshop, Crowley leaning elegantly against one wall. The June sun filtered in through the windows and picked up the dust motes hanging in the air. They created a hazy halo behind Crowley’s head. Aziraphale cleared his throat and turned his back, picking up a stack of books. “It is early summer in England,” he said by way of explanation. “Where is it not nice?”

Crowley humphed. Aziraphale could not resist turning back to look at him. Crowley had crossed his arms over his chest. He was, of course, wearing the very latest of fashions, a black coat cut in a deceptively simple style, light weight in deference to the weather. It highlighted his lines, making him seem even taller than he was, and revealed a shock of red lining whenever he turned just so. 

It was quite distracting. 

“If you’re that keen on it,” Crowley was saying, “I don’t see why you won’t go.”

“It is _ do not _ see, Crowley, and _ you are _ and _ do not _ and _ will not_, honestly.” Aziraphale tutted and turned back to his books. He put them down and began to arrange them on the shelf. “How you manage to pass among the gentry I have no idea.”

Crowley gave him a toothed smile. “It’s my natural charm.”

“I am sure,” Aziraphale said, eyeing him sidewise. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yorkshire?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said. “Well, I _ do _know it is asking rather a lot. If you did this for me, I would wish to repay you. I could — well, I could cancel the lunch debt you owe me?”

“Oh no,” Crowley said, raising a finger. “I am keeping that lunch debt. That is _ my _ lunch debt. I earned that saving your hide from the French, and I don’t want you to forget it.” He scowled. “Though how _ I _ saved _ you _ and yet somehow _ I _ ended up owing _ you _ lunch, I will never understand.”

“Be as that may,” Aziraphale said hurriedly, “I would owe _ you _ one if you did this. A temptation, perhaps?”

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “A free temptation?”

“Only one,” Aziraphale clarified, “and it would have to be within reason.”

Crowley grinned. “Your definition of reason is quite different from mine, Angel.”

Aziraphale blushed. He rearranged two of the books. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I rather do,” Crowley grumbled. He followed Aziraphale further into the stacks. “This isn’t supposed to be how the Arrangement works, you know. We’re supposed to help each other out when one of us is in the area, and I won’t be in the area. I don’t have anything in Yorkshire.”

“_West _ Yorkshire,” Aziraphale said again, “and I am aware of that, my dear, but really — what do you have in London that cannot wait?”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve got several ongoing temptations in very crucial stages,” Crowley said, straightening. “Union dues at the Hall of Weavers will be going up shortly.”

“Mmhm,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley glared. “There’ll be a coal shortage in a month.”

“It is June, my dear,” Aziraphale said kindly.

“_And_,” Crowley continued, in the tone of a man delivering his coup de gras, “just yesterday Mrs. Darling’s lady’s maid ran off with the milk boy.”

“Oh I remember those two,” Aziraphale said, turning back to him with a smile. “So very much in love.”

“Which was not my fault,” Crowley said quickly. “I just — you know, put the lust in there. The rest happened all by itself.”

Aziraphale put his hand on a stack of folios and smiled. “I know.”

“Besides,” Crowley said, in a more gruff tone of voice, “the real fun is just getting started. With all of these soldiers coming back from war, London will soon be a cornucopia of sin.”

“Of course, the Battle of Waterloo,” Aziraphale murmured. He looked over at Crowley. “Was that one of ours? Or one of yours?”

“Bit of both, I suspect,” Crowley said. He tugged at his jacket and glanced over at the books. “What’s Heaven got for you to do in West Yorkshire, anyway?”

“Well, it is not quite the level of miracling _ you _have been up to, my dear,” Aziraphale teased. “Not encouraging romance between the social classes sort of thing.”

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley said irritably.

“But it _ is _ right up your alley, actually. A horticultural endeavour.”

Crowley looked confused. “Eh?”

Aziraphale smiled. “They want me to bless a rose.” 

Crowley’s eyebrows rose behind his glasses. “They _ what?” _

“It rather took me by surprise as well, my dear, but apparently there’s been a rare hybridi— hybrio— hybrid-something happen, and the rose is quite new and very special. Since roses are the Flower of Love, I’ve been ordered to West Yorkshire to bless it. Ensure it survives, you know.”

_ “Hybridization _, Angel,” Crowley said, distractedly. “Any idea what sort of cross? Is it an English rose or Chinese?”

“Well I am quite sure I do not know,” Aziraphale said with a private smile, turning back to his shelves. “In fact I did try to tell Head Office that I was not the angel for the job, but it seems I am the closest agent in the area, so to speak, and it was dropped in my lap regardless.”

“Hmm,” Crowley said. He was trying to sound cross, but Aziraphale knew by the shift of his shoulders that he was interested. He watched him over his books.

Crowley caught him looking, glared, and then turned to look pointedly at the street. After a few carriages had gone by he finally said, “A new species of rose isn’t Heaven’s usual deal. Where is it? I mean,” he waved a gloved hand, “where in West Yorkshire might it be?”

“On an estate owned by a Mr Robert Darling,” Aziraphale said, ignoring Crowley’s disaffected interest. “I understand he had a rose bush gifted to him a number of years ago, and he has put his best people on it. It has flowered, or hybridized, or something. Apparently it is quite lovely.”

“I see,” Crowley said, and then, “Hmm.”

Aziraphale waited patiently.

Finally Crowley sighed. “Well, maybe I _ should _go,” he said at last. “You’ll probably bugger it up if you went. Kill the blessed thing.”

“Oh, _ thank _you, Crowley,” Aziraphale exclaimed. He left off his books and took Crowley by the hand. “Really! I do rather think you are the proper Angel, err — Fallen angel — for the job.”

Crowley glared at him, but he didn’t take his hand back. “Humpf,” he said. He gestured with his other arm. “And what will _ you _ be doing while I work, then? It _ is _June in London, as you so correctly pointed out. There aren’t going to be any gentry around for you to sell books to.”

“Yes, _ exactly,” _Aziraphale agreed, happily. “It is quite positively my favourite time of year. And I have a new shipment due in by the end of the week.” He let go of Crowley and crossed to his desk, where he kept his inventory lists. “I would hate to delay it.”

Crowley followed him, his mouth quirking into a smile. “So this whole ‘bookshop’ thing you’ve got going — ”

“Is working out splendidly!” 

“For the purpose of purchasing books,” Crowley agreed. “You do realize, though, that most bookshops intentionally _ sell _ books from time to time.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. “Crowley! What a perfectly horrible thing to say!” 

Crowley laughed.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

  
  


When Aziraphale received instructions from Heaven, the particulars came to him as he prayed. For Crowley’s sake, however, he wrote everything down, noting the species of rose and its description — writing the words didn’t help it make any more sense to Aziraphale than it had before — and directions to the Darling estate. It was north of Derbyshire, apparently, and boarded on the Peaks.

“It should be quite pretty,” Aziraphale said, handing Crowley the paper.

Crowley only grunted. “Too late to head out now,” he said, folding the instructions and glancing out the window. The sun was indeed going down. “Best to wait until morning.”

“Well then, I have just the thing to enjoy before you go,” Aziraphale said and rummaged in the cupboard for a moment before emerging with a particularly lovely claret he’d recently found. “You can tell me what it is you have been up to since the French Revolution.”

Crowley shrugged but made his way to one of the couches in the back. It was still new but very soft and, Aziraphale thought, rather comfortable. He may or may not have purchased it with Crowley in mind. “Not much. Pour me some, would you?” He glanced around. “You know, as much as I enjoy the bookshop, Aziraphale, it would be nice to go out one of these days. Somewhere with proper service.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, reprovingly. “If either side saw us — ”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley said. He tugged at his coat. “Never mind. Let me tell you about France.”

They traded stories for hours. When dawn came they sobered up and Crowley sent a boy for his carriage. They waited together on the front step until a comfortable-looking ensemble arrived. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but admire it — black, of course, with a stylized design of a snake on the door, and pulled by a pair of beautiful matched bays.

“What a lovely carriage, Crowley,” he said.

Crowley shrugged. “Puts me at a remove from the horses, at least, though I’d be rid of the blasted things entirely if I could.” 

“Yes, quite a scandal it would cause were you ride a horseless carriage around London,” Aziraphale agreed. He saw that Crowley had a driver and a footman. The footman opened the door.

Crowley walked towards it. “Quite. Anyway, it shouldn’t take me more than three days to reach the estate. I’ll budget one day for the blessing and then another three to get back. Should be home by the end of the week. You’d better start working on the strength of your temptations, Angel. I swear, the last one you took didn’t last a fortnight.”

“That was not my fault,” Aziraphale argued, following Crowley out to the carriage. He refused to acknowledge the rush of warmth he felt when Crowley used the word  _ home.  _ “Hell told you to tempt that maid in to gluttony. It was hardly my fault she married the baker instead.”

“Still,” Crowley said, waggling a finger as he stepped into the carriage. “Practice.” He miracled the door closed, much to the surprise of his footman, and gestured to the driver. “I’ll see you in a week.”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said and watched him drive away.

It was a lovely week. His book order arrived and Aziraphale enjoyed it thoroughly, admiring every volume before finding a place for it on the shelves. Best of all, not a single customer arrived to interrupt him.

The second week was also enjoyable, if marred by Aziraphale’s head turning unconsciously whenever he heard a carriage go by. He waited in the shop, sure at any moment that Crowley would appear, with tales of his adventures and restrained gushings over the rose, but he never did.

A third week began. If he were human, Aziraphale’s neck would have been quite sore. He spent nearly every moment at the window. He pulled at his coat. He fretted. He was, in a word, worried. 

It was a silly thing to be. Crowley was a demon and rather good at taking care of himself, Aziraphale knew, except there really  _ were  _ rather a lot of unemployed soldiers around and more coming in every day. Trouble was brewing and the increase in Weaver dues wasn’t helping. It would be just like Crowley to poke at a hornet’s nest and end up getting stung.

But Crowley wouldn’t have allowed himself to be truly injured, would he? There were a half dozen reasons why he could be delayed. It wouldn’t be — surely he’d not have been — if he’d been  _ discorporated _ —

Well, Aziraphale, told himself firmly. He would know.

Wouldn’t he?

It took another day of fretting before Aziraphale determined he _must _simply go to West Yorkshire and check on Crowley for himself. He packed his things, ordered a post carriage, and locked his shop. He had a nifty miracle on hand to ensure no one broke in while he was out, and he stepped into the post chaise sure in the knowledge that his books would be safe without him for a bit.

The post carriage was fine. It was not the fault of the conveyance that West Yorkshire was such an abominably long drive from London or that Aziraphale worried every inch along the way. 

He stepped down whenever the horses were changed, ostensibly to stretch his legs, but really so he could inquire about Crowley. Several people did recall seeing a fashionable man in a dark coat with coal-tinted glasses, but all had seen him over a fortnight past. They confirmed the man was heading in the vague direction of Yorkshire. None had seen him return.

At least there were no tales of carriage accidents. Aziraphale asked about highwaymen but was assured the roads in this part of England were safe. He paid extra for the privilege of traveling through the night and conjured a light to read by that he extinguished when it became clear he’d not taken in a single word on the page. He spent the entire trip alternating between berating himself for jumping to conclusions and suffering visions of Crowley being bashed over the head and thrown into a ditch. In a swirl of anxiety and irritation, then, did Aziraphale arrive in West Yorkshire.

It was a charming county Aziraphale had to admit. The road went around the Peaks, and Aziraphale could understand how stalwart Englishmen, having never actually  _ seen  _ mountains, could mistake them for such. He stopped at the nearest town to have the horses changed and inquired about the Darling Estate.

“Aye, not far. Bit more into Herringstone than we are here, but a lovely slice o’ land,” the proprietor said. “Makes ye wonder what’ll happen to it now.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, a pit of dread opening in his stomach. “Pray tell?”

The proprietor looked at him in surprise. “Ya mean, ya don’t know?” He frowned. “I thought ye was a friend of the family. Here to pay ye respects.”

“Yes of course, certainly, I  _ am,” _ Aziraphale lied, rather badly, “but I myself have only just returned from abroad and am quite behind the times.”

“Ah,” the proprietor said, nodding knowledgeably, “the War. Put a ruckus in everything, din’t it? Just when ye thought that bastard Napoleon was in exile, he escapes! And goes on a rampage again. But we stuck it to ‘im, didn’t we?” He grinned. “That’s English might.”

Aziraphale winced. He wouldn’t have framed it as such. “Er, quite,” he managed, “but ah, you were saying?”

The man blinked at him. “About what? Oh, that’s right, the Darlings. Come to think of it, I had another man through here recently said the same thing, that he was laid up in Gibraltar, of all places, for months. He was asking ‘bout the Darlings, too.”

Aziraphale’s heart thumped painfully. “Oh? Would this be a tall, thin man, by any chance? Wearing black?”

The proprietor’s eyes brightened. “Ye know him!”

“I do indeed,” Aziraphale said, thinking fast. “I, er, came on his recommendation, actually. He spoke of the beauty of this place.”

The man’s eyes turned wistful. “Ah, that’s true. None so beautiful a county in all of England, I’m sure.”

“Rather,” Aziraphale said. “However, I do believe that man’s last missive to me went astray. I knew he was setting off for here, but I am not quite sure where he went. He was also an acquaintance of the Lord Darling, however, so you can understand why I have decided to start my search there.”

“Oh, aye,” the proprietor said with a nod. “Well, I can confirm that he was here, over a fortnight ago, three weeks, mayhap, and I gave ‘im directions to the Darling estate and off he went. I told him the news about poor Mr Darling, too. Right shook up about it, he was.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, his heart sinking again. “What news is that?”

“That’s right, I forgot ye don’t know,” the man said, thumping the table. “The Lord Darling, he’s dead.”

“What?” Aziraphale gasped.

The proprietor nodded. “Died in the first war, was on a ship coming over from the West Indies, and ne’er arrived. Mrs Darling waited months until the Navy could confirm ‘er husband had been lost, and then went into mourning. It’s been half a twelvemonth, now.”

“Oh dear, I am so sorry to hear that,” Aziraphale said, taken aback. It wasn’t unusual for Heaven to get some details wrong, but surely they should have known if the man were alive or not. Though his soul could have gone Downstairs, Aziraphale supposed. Heaven might not have gotten the memo. Hell did so like to delay in its paperwork. “I had planned on visiting the family, but I suppose I should not.”

The proprietor shrugged. “Miss Darling is finished her mourning and been seen around town the past couple er days. They aren’t hosting a garden party, from what I hear, but yer friend went to the village and I haven’t seen ‘im since.”

“Well, thank you,” Aziraphale said. “You’ve been very kind.” He tipped the man generously and subtly cured his impotence. 

“Oh, any time, any time,” the proprietor said. He took the coins. “Say, if you’ve got to stick around for a while, ye might as well take a room. I have space for your carriage, if you like.”

“I travelled by post, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said, “but certainly I need time to think.”

The proprietor smiled. “Then sit down and have a bowl of my Annie’s stew and a chunk o’ bread. Not fancy food, maybe, but filling.”

Aziraphale abruptly realized he hadn’t eaten in a week. “That sounds wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”

He took a seat and enjoyed the stew which was certainly not fancy but very good. As he ate, he thought over his course.

He should go into Herringstone. It was the closest village to the Darling estate. Once there, he could let a room if only for a couple of nights, and look for signs of Crowley. Certainly he had made it this far. 

But then why hadn’t he contacted him? Or sent him a letter? Aziraphale stabbed the last piece of beef in worried irritation.

_ Where are you, Crowley?  _ he wondered.  _ What in Heaven’s name have you gotten yourself into? _


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

  
  


Herringstone was a charming village, everything one would imagine of rural English life. Aziraphale noticed two bakeries and a sweetshop and fancied the inn would pass a respectable meal.

There were two inns, in fact, but only one an associate of the Darling family would frequent, so Aziraphale took a room there under the name A.Z. Fell. He asked the innkeeper if she’d seen a man matching Crowley’s description about town.

“A tall man, wearing black? With tinted glasses?” She shook her head. “No sir, I haven’t seen anyone like that. Could he be staying with the family, perhaps?”

“The Darlings?” Aziraphale asked. “Mayhap.”

“Well, I’ll ask George. He goes up there on Sundays to deliver the salt, and he can have a see. You’re lookin’ for this man, I take?”

“I am,” Aziraphale admitted. “I would be most grateful if you would tell me if he happens to be seen.”

“‘Course I will,” the woman said. “Now right this way with you, and don’t you mind your things. I’ll have me Tom bring them up later.”

The room was lovely and Aziraphale told her so. When she left, he went to the window and looked out. He couldn’t quite see the estate from here but he knew from description that it was on a rise to the north of the village. A prosperous estate, and well managed, but producing only a daughter and now in confusion with the Lord Darling dead. The village-people were taking bets on how long it would take Miss Darling to go to London and return wed, with her mourning complete. 

“Though she’ll wait until her mother can accompany her, just you see,” one maid whispered to another as Aziraphale came down the stairs. “A good ‘un, she is.”

“Yes, but at three and twenty, she ain’t have the time,” the other muttered back. “Wasted too much of it on the Captain, she did.”

“Ack, she’s rich and beautiful,” the first maid replied, with only a touch of envy, “she’ll find a husband in Town.”

“A husband who’ll walk in and rob us all blind,” the second maid grumbled. “My Harold says that work has dried up now that summer is here, and nothing expected ‘til the harvest. And that’s if the new Lord keeps up the arrangements. Mark my words, we got lucky with Lord Darling. Who knows what sort of man’ll come along?”

“Well, it’ll be the sort of man Miss Darling marries, and she’ll not do us wrong.”

The second maid shook her head. “She’ll be turned by a pretty head. They all do.”

The first maid tutted. Together they turned a corner and disappeared. Aziraphale, who had thrown up a quick veil when they appeared, released it. My, my, he thought, as he continued down the stairs. There was quite a lot of drama in these quaint English towns!

He rented a horse and then turned its head in the direction of the Darling estate. It wasn’t a long ride. The estate was, as had been said, a lovely bit of land. The house was in good repair and situated nicely on a pair of rolling hills, and the farms around it appeared saturated with early-July growth. Aziraphale did not go too far up the drive but eyed the approach and the tradesman’s entrance and thought of ways he might sneak in later, after dark.

Returning his mount to the Inn, Aziraphale decided to have a walk about the town. There weren’t many bookshops this far from London, but he did stop in at several establishments he thought Crowley might frequent — a clothing store, an artist gallery, and a smith shop. No one knew of a man matching his friend’s description, however. He left the last with a polite word and stepped back onto the street.

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” Aziraphale muttered to himself. “Where can you be?”

He’d never managed the trick of sensing the demon. Surely, Crowley had appeared enough times when Aziraphale was in need, but he’d never discovered how. Crowley had always surprised him. They’d go decades or even half a century without seeing each other, and then Aziraphale would turn a street corner, and there he’d be.

Experimentally, he dashed around the next awning.

No such luck.

He had given it up as a bad job and was walking back to the Inn when he found himself distracted by a lovely bit of tartan and popped into a shop. He noticed his mistake as soon as he walked in, however, for it was a lady’s establishment. Aziraphale looked around apologetically, intending to leave and then drew himself up short. 

“I think it will look wonderfully, Mrs Tailor,” a young woman was saying. “I shall have my lady’s maid pick it up by the end of the week, and I do thank you sincerely for getting it done in time.”

The tailor nodded and folded the dress away and the woman for whom it was meant was smiling. She was a lovely thing in a purple dress, rather tall, with good hips and golden curls. Aziraphale noticed these only by way of Angelic recollection. His entire attention was instead taken by the stiff-looking gentleman on her arm, top hat secured firmly in place, coal-tinted glasses perched unerringly on his nose. He wore a black coat with silver buttons and his cane was a snake head rearing to strike.

“My word!” Aziraphale said, shockingly loudly. He was vaguely aware of the lady and another matronly-looking woman who could only be her companion, glancing over in surprise. “Crowley! Is that you?” 

Crowley — for it  _ was  _ him, what on Earth was he  _ doing  _ here? — glanced over. Unexpectedly, he tensed. “Mr Fell,” he said in a voice that could have frosted glass.

Aziraphale stared at him. “Crowley?” All of the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks flooded into his voice. “What is the meaning of this? Is this where you have been? And you could not have found the time to send a letter? Dear boy, you had me worried sick!”

“Oh!” the young woman said. She raised a hand to her mouth, understanding dawning on her face. “My dear,” she said to Crowley, “could this be him?”

Crowley’s jaw, already tensed, creaked.

“I rather think it is,” the young woman replied, without waiting for a reply. “Will you not introduce us?”

Crowley glanced up once, heavenward, and then shook his head. Like a man approaching the guillotine, he extended a hand. “Miss Darling,” he said, his voice still cold, eyes hidden behind that damnable glass, “may I introduce Mr Fell, of London. Mr Fell, this is Miss Darling.”

Aziraphale gaped. “Miss Darling, did you say?”

She tittered. “Oh yes, Mr Fell, I have heard so much about you, but Mr Crowley, you did not tell him the best part.”

Her eyes were bright with happiness. Aziraphale felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He looked back at Crowley. “The best part?”

“Oh yes,” Miss Darling exclaimed, “for I will not be a Darling much longer.” She looked over at Crowley and smiled brightly. “Is that not right?”

Aziraphale felt the floor beneath his feet shift. He stared at his friend. 

Crowley sighed. It was a deep sigh, one that rose from the heels of his boots, and when it had peaked he placed a hand on Miss Darling’s arm. “Yes, Mr Fell,” he said wearily. “I was incorrect in my address. This is indeed Miss Darling.” He stopped and swallowed. “My fiance.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. He looked between his friend’s drawn face and the happy, smiling bride-to-be. “Oh, my.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

“No, _ really,” _ Crowley hissed when Aziraphale had sufficiently recovered to extend somewhat more of a congratulations. Miss Darling and her companion had tittered out of the store. Crowley had promised through gritted teeth to join her at the Darling estate for dinner and told her he would make his own way hence. _ “What _are you doing here? You couldn’t leave me to experience my humiliation in peace?”

“I told you,” Aziraphale hissed back. The tailor was watching them curiously, so he distracted her by the first stirrings of the baby she’d almost thought she’d lost and pulled Crowley rather further into a corner. “I have been worried sick! You told me one week to travel and another to return. I waited and I waited and finally had to see for myself! I thought I would find you discorporated in a ditch!”

And it would have been all my fault, he thought but couldn’t say.

“No, it’s much worse than that,” Crowley said, looking away. “I would much prefer to deal with the bureaucracy of Hell than be trapped here like I am.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “My dear boy,” he said finally, “what in Heaven’s name _ happened?” _

Crowley laughed without humour. “This has nothing to do with _ Heaven, _I’m sure.” He shook his head. “I came in my carriage, as you know, and found out shortly after I’d arrived that the good Lord Darling was dead. I decided to pay my respects to the family, fully intending to request a walk about the gardens to see the rose he had written to me so specifically about and then be on my way.

“But Mrs Darling was not accepting visitors. Miss Darling was at home, and she received me in the parlour with her companion. I tried to do as I had planned, but she drew me into conversation. I cannot recall exactly what was said, I believe it was of the horticultural line, and too soon the respectable time to take my leave had come and gone. Miss Darling invited me to dinner, saying she had seen so very little of company since her mourning had been complete, and, thinking I could still see the rose after dinner, I accepted.”

Aziraphale waited, but Crowley clenched his jaw again, and looked away. “Yes?” Aziraphale prodded. “And then what?”

Crowley opened his mouth, then sighed. “I don’t even know, Angel. We were sitting on the couch. I had drank some wine at dinner and Miss Darling, for all her human foibles, is an active landlady, and a rather good gardener. We got to talking. She said something about her late father and I sympathized, and then suddenly she was crying and I gave her my handkerchief. I made some comment about how she should be sad no longer, that I was here, and suddenly her eyes brightened and all but threw herself into my arms, and told me she would accept!”

Aziraphale didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, Crowley.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” the demon hissed. “I have been accused of having an active imagination, Angel, but nothing could have prepared me for that! The companion tried to say something, but Miss Darling hushed her and then took off from the room asking for her mother. I thought very hard about making a run for it, but dash it all, I hadn’t yet seen the rose, and so I dithered and before I could make up my mind, Mrs Darling arrived.

"She asked me pointed questions about my income and my interest and the location of my estate. I fudged a few numbers and said I didn’t have one. I was asked if I had any interest in crop growing and had to confess that I had. Miss Darling interrupted to outline the particulars we had been discussing about flowers, gardens, and wheat. Then Mrs Darling turned to her daughter and said she thought I should do rather well and welcomed me into the family!” He threw up his arms. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale could only murmur. “Did you, at any point in the past two weeks, come up with a plan?”

Crowley clenched his jaw mulishly. “I rather thought I’d stab myself on my wedding night.”

Aziraphale couldn’t quite hold back his smile. “Oh, Crowley. I can understand why you did not send for me but now that I am here, I am sure the two of us can come up with a better plan than that.”

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d leave her with some money,” he said, looking down at her toes. “I’m not a monster.”

Aziraphale touched him on the arm. “I never said you were,” he said gently. “Come now, you look like a man in need of some wine. I have taken a room at the Rose and Thorn. Will you join me?”

Crowley sighed but walked when Aziraphale led him. They crossed the small town and made it to the inn. “Where are you staying?” Aziraphale asked once he’d gotten Crowely back to his room.

“At the Darling estate in the male guest quarters,” Crowley said tiredly. His shoulders had begun to droop the moment Aziraphale closed the door behind them, and he seemed nearly a puddle now. He was clearly exhausted. “I told them I didn’t have anywhere else to stay.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, checking the sideboard for glasses. “Have you at least managed to bless the rose?”

Crowley laughed brokenly. “That blessed thing? No, I haven’t.” He accepted a glass. “This’ll be the last time you ask _ me _for a favour, Angel. I’ll end up owing you several by the end.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I do not mind coming to your rescue for once. Surely it is my turn?”

Crowley let his head fall back against the seat cushion. “This might turn out to be worse than the French Revolution.”

“I do not see how you can say that,” Aziraphale tutted. “You have not been discorporated yet.”

Crowley drained his glass. “I’ve already sharpened the dagger I’ll need for the job.”

_ “Crowley,” _Aziraphale admonished, “enough of that. We will think of something, dear boy. We always do.”

Crowley lifted his head off the cushion. “‘We,’ Angel?”

Aziraphale met his smile but only for an instant. “Of course, my dear,” he said, refilling his glass instead. “As I said, I am here now. Leave it to me.”

  



	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

  


Aziraphale, who fancied himself the honest sort, would gladly admit that Crowley had a better mind than he. Crowley was the one who came up with plans, the counter plans, and the plots. The Arrangement had been his idea, after all, and Aziraphale had to agree that it had worked out rather well for them both.

But this situation was clearly beyond his abilities. Crowley had been here for two weeks now, and in all that time had yet to come up with a single idea besides stabbing himself, and that was not an outcome Aziraphale was prepared to accept. He _ liked _Crowley’s corporation, and Hell was even worse for paperwork than Heaven. Aziraphale did not intend to be stranded alone on Earth for the next fifty years.

He would miss Crowley. There was no shame in saying it. Crowley was his friend. 

Quite possibly his best. Most likely his only.

“We simply have to find a way to have Miss Darling break off the engagement,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“Oh, is that all?” Crowley said, lifting his head. He’d drank quite a bit of wine since they’d settled in to Aziraphale’s rooms and he didn’t look likely to stop any time soon. “She’s a woman who knows what she wants. I know her sort, Angel.”

“Well, what does she want?” Aziraphale asked patiently. “Forgive me, my dear, but it must be more than just your pretty face.”

Crowley looked at him. “You think I’m pretty?”

_ “Crowley,” _Aziraphale admonished.

“Oh all right, all right,” Crowley said wretchedly. He threw back his wine. “My money, obviously.”

“Yes quite,” Aziraphale said. “Couple your income with the fact that you have no estate of your own and have intelligent opinions on farming and you would be enough for a woman in her situation.” Aziraphale paused thoughtfully. “Still, she is a pretty woman with a large fortune — she must have other suitors.”

Crowley tipped back his glass. “None that I’ve seen.”

“Yes, but you’ve only been here a fortnight,” Aziraphale said. He thought back. “There was someone courting her before, a Captain, I believe. I heard one of the maids talking about it.”

“Oh?” Crowley asked. He looked interested. “Who was he? Go and find him, bring him back here, and maybe she’ll throw herself at him instead.”

“I do not know who he was,” Aziraphale admitted, “but I suppose it cannot be that difficult to find out.”

He stood up. Crowley looked at him curiously. “Where are you going?”

“To speak to the innkeeper,” Aziraphale said. He looked at Crowley critically. “And to order a very late lunch. You are going to want some food to go with that wine, eventually.”

“Nah,” Crowley said, tipping his head back again. “I’ve been walking on eggshells for two weeks, not bloody daring to sleep, being unsure what would come next. I haven’t gotten drunk enough to deal with all of this yet.”

Aziraphale smiled at him fondly. Such a strange demon and such a precious friend. “You did promise your lady love you would be back in time for dinner.”

Crowley stared at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, my dear,” he said. “I _ am _glad you are okay.”

Crowley lifted his head enough to squint at him. “I’m not okay, Aziraphale. I’m _ engaged.” _

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said, “at least your not dead in a ditch.” 

He slipped out of the room before Crowley could respond, likely with something biting, and descended to the main floor. There he found the landlady and inquired delicately with her about food. 

“Oh, ‘course Mr Fell, a late luncheon. I’ll send a few plates up for you and your friend. I see you’ve found ‘im, then?”

“That I have, Mrs Wright, that I have,” Aziraphale said. “He is with me only for the afternoon and will not be needing a room, however, as you were correct that he is currently staying at the Darling estate. I suppose that is why no one in town had seen him.”

“Oh,” Mrs Wright said, her curiosity peaked, “with the Darlings, you say?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “My friend and I both knew Mr Darling, or,” he amended, thinking of the short course of human lives, “rather, our fathers did. We were both so sorry to hear of his passing.”

“Aye,” Mrs Wright said, her eyes filling with tears, “was a crude shock for us all, and worse for the family, o’ course.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “Such a tragedy must put a pause on all. I had thought, well,” he looked away, “surely it is none of my business.”

“Oh?” Mrs Wright said, leaning in. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said, glancing around once, “I _ had _thought there was some kind of an understanding between Miss Darling and a previous gentleman — a Captain, I believe.”

“Oh, well,” Mrs Wright said, leaning back, “I wouldn’t call it an _ understanding, _per say, but everyone in the village knew the name Captain Elighton. He was here often, visiting Mr Darling with his father, the Lord Elighton, and certainly some thought he would offer his hand to the lovely Miss Darling.” Mrs Wright shook her head. “But I’m afraid that came to naught long before the unfortunate passing of her father.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked.

Mrs Wright eyed him. “Had you heard differently?”

“Well,” Aziraphale hedged.

“To be sure, we all thought it was a good match,” Mrs Wright went on. “Captain Elighton was but a second son and no hope of inheriting — that’s why he went into the Navy, I expect — but Miss Darling has enough fortune for them both, and the Captain seemed to be a fine man and a good master. But no, somethin’ happened. I’m not privy to the details, o’ course, but the Captain, he left in a great huff one day and ne’er came back again. I admit, I thought when the French were defeated that he’d pop round, but there’s been no sign of him.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said. “Well, I suppose things weren’t as settled as they seemed, then.” He bowed. “I thank you again for your hospitality, madam. I will take my leave now.”

Back in his apartment, Aziraphale relayed all that he’d learned.

“‘S easy then,” Crowley slurred drunkenly, “we find the Ca— Captain,” he hiccuped, “and throw him and Miss Darling together, and I tell her to follow her heart or,” he waved the bottle, “whatever, and it’s done.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said. He rather thought it might prove more difficult than that. 

The luncheon arrived and Aziraphale ate. He urged Crowley to try just a pinch of this and that, but the demon preferred to drink. Aziraphale watched him worriedly. An hour before he would have to leave for dinner, a boy appeared at the door.

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked, standing so as to hide Crowley from view.

“A message for you, sir,” the boy said, trying to peek cheekingly around his shoulders, “from the Darling estate.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, taking the note. He Angelically Inspired the boy to be more diligent in his duties. “Are you to wait for a reply?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, standing up straight. His eyes were front and centre now, and his heels nearly clicked together.

“Pray, wait here a moment, then,” Aziraphale said and closed the door in his face.

“”R you, are you miracling people, Angel?” Crowley slurred. He’d been half-dozing on the couch, his feet up on the sette.

“Simply reinforcing the Heavenly Virtues, my dear,” Azirapahale said, skimming the note. He made a pleased sound and tapped Crowley’s boot. “Enough of that now. Time to sober up.”

“Eh?” Crowley asked. “Why?”

“Because your fiance has good manners,” Azirapahel said. He crossed to the board and took out his writing things. “She has invited me to dinner.”

“Bugger,” Crowley said but sat up. He ran a hand through his hair and it fixed itself, then made a face and expelled all the alcohol from his system. “Ugh,” he said, smacking his lips together distastefully. “When?”

“Soon,” Aziraphale said. It didn’t take him long to pen a quick reply. The boy was still waiting outside the door when he opened it. Aziraphale gave him his reply and a shilling for his trouble, with an extra to alleviate his guilt. He really _ shouldn’t _have inspired the boy without asking. Sure enough, the boy proved he was one of Hell’s designates by losing some of his straight posture, flashing him a grin, and running off.

Aziraphale sighed and shut the door, but couldn’t quite hide his smile. “Do you have a way to call for your carriage?” he asked Crowley. 

His friend made a face. “Yeah,” he replied. He borrowed Aziraphale’s paper. “I suppose you didn’t refuse, then?”

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale said. “Absolutely not. This is our first chance to extricate you. I’m not about to miss it.”

Crowley eyed him. “So you’re not just coming to laugh at me, then?”

Aziraphale patted his shoulder in as friendly a way as possible. “Not only, my dear,” he promised. “Not only.”


	6. Chapter Six

Dinner was a quiet affair with Mrs Darling still in mourning. Crowley, Aziraphale, Miss Darling, Mrs Darling, and Miss Darling’s companion, a Mrs Winters, were the only ones to dine. Mrs Darling clearly had a good heart but was weighed down by grief and worry. The future of the estate sat heavily on her shoulders. She smiled only when Miss Darling said something clever or if Crowley spoke of grain. The rest of the time she looked wan.

Aziraphale tried to keep the conversation away from agricultural pursuits, so as not to encourage Miss Darling’s affection for his friend, but there was not much else in the way of common topics. Crowley had already mentioned he had a particular friend in London who kept books which was why Miss Darling had recognized him in the shop that morning, and recounting their friendship to Mrs Darling took no time at all. Crowley could, however, go on at length about agriculture — and horticulture, for that matter — and too often, when led there by Miss Darling, he did.

Still, though neither Miss Darling nor Mrs Darling had been in London very often, there were a few plays Aziraphale soon discovered they all had seen. This segwayed very nicely into a conversation on Shakespeare that lasted them through the second remove.

Mrs Darling finally stood and said she would go through into the parlour. Miss Darling and her companion rose to join her. Crowley and Aziraphale promised they would not be long. The servants circulated with refreshments and Crowley waved away a cigar.

“No, thank you,” he said, though he did accept a brandy.

Aziraphale took a glass of port and dismissed the servants. When they had gone, he turned to Crowley. “Well,” he said. “They seem to be lovely people.”

“Yes,” Crowley said miserably, “they are.” He took a sip of his brandy and looked over at Aziraphale. “What did you say you’d found out about the Captain, again?”

“Only that his name is Elighton,” Aziraphale said, “and that his father is a Lord. They were also acquaintances of Mr Darling and apparently visited often.”

“And she was sweet on him?”

“I think so,” Aziraphale said, “though it is all hearsay at this point.”

“Hmm,” Crowley said. “Elighton. I feel as though I’ve seen that name somewhere before.”

“Do you know where?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shook his head. They finished their drinks and left their glasses on the table before crossing over to the parlour. Mrs Darling was sitting on a chaise and Miss Darling at the pianoforte. 

“Oh, Miss Darling,” Aziraphale said, excitedly, “do you play?”

“Only a little,” Miss Darling admitted. “There are so few pursuits in the country, I am afraid that learning myself was the only way to hear new music for weeks at a time.”

“Well, please, do us all a favour and exhibit,” Aziraphale said warmly. 

Unfortunately, her playing was only reasonable. Not exceptionally lovely, nor overly bad. She fumbled a little in the most difficult passages but did grow in confidence by the end.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale said as exuberant as he could. In truth, it  _ was  _ nice to hear new music, the composer being no one he recognized, and Miss Darling’s playing had encouraged Mrs Darling to smile. Aziraphale did hope that no one else had noticed the way Crowley had winced whenever a note had been misplayed. “Do play another, please.”

Miss Darling obliged them with a second song, still of only middling quality. Crowley tapped his fingers on the leg of his trouser. Aziraphale shot him a frown, thinking he was being rude, and was surprised when he gave a sudden start and snapped his fingers.

“Of course,” he exclaimed, “Elighton!”

The pianoforte gave a horrid, jarring note. Miss Darling’s fingers had slipped.

“I knew I knew the name,” Crowley went on, grinning at Aziraphale, oblivious, apparently, to the way Miss Darling was staring at him with wide eyes.

Aziraphale glanced at her. She looked, in point of fact, almost guilty.

“I am sorry, Mr Crowley,” Miss Darling said, “but did you say Elighton?”

“Yes,” Crowley replied. “Captain Elighton. I apologize for interrupting you, Miss Darling. Mr Fell mentioned the name Lord Elighton to me earlier. We were reminiscing over your father, and discussing his greatest friends, and the name Lord Elighton was raised.” He looked over at Mrs Darling. “I understand he was a particular friend of your late husband’s?”

Mrs Darling looked pale. Her lips were thin and pressed together. “He was, sir.”

Crowley nodded in apparent good humour. “Yes, we thought so. Well, I was saying to Mr Fell that I recognized the name but could not place it, and it has just come to me — there was a  _ Captain  _ Elighton in the papers recently, several months ago. I believe he was one of the four ships that captured the  _ USS President.” _

“Ah,” Mrs Darling said. Some colour had returned to her cheeks. “Yes, I believe he was.”

“Well, the man is a hero then!” Crowley exclaimed. “And a close friend of your family. Pray tell, will we have the favour of his company when your mourning is complete?”

Crowley was smiling at Mrs Darling so Aziraphale looked at her daughter. Miss Darling’s gaze had gone far away, but there was nothing soft in her expression. Her jaw was tight. Something of anger remained in her gaze.

_ Oh dear, _ thought Aziraphale. 

“I do not believe so,” Mrs Darling said. She did not appear angry, but her gaze, when it shifted to her daughter, appeared concerned. “He is much engaged with the Navy, I am sure, and his father with the actions of Parliament.”

“Of course, of course” Crowley said, “the summer recess cannot last forever. Still, it would have been a great pleasure to meet him.”

“Oh, I do not know,” Miss Darling said. Her words were casual, but her tone was not. It was angry, and hurt. “Men of the Navy are likely best left aboard their ships. Surely their manners are not fit for polite company.”

Crowley looked confused. “I had thought him a gentleman.”

“Too much sea air,” Miss Darling said, with false brightness. “It can addle even the best of minds. Best to stick to land.”

“Yes, certainly,” Mrs Darling said. “My dear, why do you not play us another song?”

Miss Darling smiled tightly but did turn back to the pianoforte. Her next song came out the better for the manner in which she struck the keys. Aziraphale listened with more enjoyment, even as his mind was whirling.

Crowley also appeared to be listening, though he apparently did not think to stand and help her from the bench when she was finished. Aziraphale took that duty upon himself. He led her to an empty chair and fetched her cake and tea. Such manners earned him a favoured smile from Miss Darling and guaranteed her attention for the rest of the night. They spoke further of Shakespeare. By the time Mrs Darling announced her intention to retire, Aziraphale had been offered the use of a room at the estate for the duration of his stay and encouraged to move his things from the Rose and Thorn in the morning.

“I do not know,” Aziraphale said quietly to Crowley, when the demon walked him to the door under the pretence of offering Aziraphale his carriage. “Perhaps I should return to London and begin the search for Captain Elighton?”

“Don’t worry about it, Angel,” Crowley assured him. He was smiling. “Captain Elighton will come to us.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

  
  


Aziraphale found out what Crowley had meant late the next morning. He awoke at the Rose and Thorn to learn the entire village now knew of Miss Darling’s engagement. He received reserved congratulations on behalf of his friend from several servants, including the man who dressed him and one of the maids. He thought he did a credible job of accepting them. 

Mrs Cushings, the innkeeper, was waiting for him below stairs. Aziraphale took his leave of her and her establishment with an embarrassed air, assuring her that the service was not the least at fault.

“O’ course not, sir, o’ course not,” she agreed. “An invitation to the estate is not one any person can be expected to turn down!”

“Exactly,” Aziraphale said. He was relieved to hear she understood.

“And with your particular friend now engaged to Miss Darling,” Mrs Cushings continued with a sly look, “you might be staying quite a while.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, evasively. “I do not know about that.”

He shouldn’t have said anything. Mrs Cushings pounced with all the curiosity of a tiger. “So you think it will be a long engagement?” 

“Well, I am sure I do not know,” Aziraphale prevaricated. He glanced around the establishment, searching for some means of escape, but there was none. The only door led to the yard and the stairs were at his back. “I am sure Miss Darling would like more time to get to know my friend.”

“Yes, it does seem rather a precipitous decision,” Mrs Cushings said as she wrote out his account, “but I can speak for the entire village when I say that a solid engagement is preferred over gnawing uncertainty.”

“I suppose that would be true,” Aziraphale agreed reluctantly. 

Mrs Cushings handed him the account to sign. “And I suppose, with this engagement, we’ll see no more of Captain Elighton?”

“That I could not say,” Aziraphale said worriedly. Crowley could be so incautious with his miracles. “I suppose one never knows.”

Mrs Cushings smiled and filed his signature, then bade him to sit for a moment in the dining room while his carriage was brought around. It was Crowley’s carriage, of course. Aziraphale had not the heart to correct her.

The dining room was occupied by only a few men drinking coffee. Aziraphale joined them. Accepting the  _ Post,  _ he sat and thought over what Crowley had said. He did hope the poor Captain would be alright.

He received his answer a moment later. There was a shout and then a furious clammer from the yard. 

“What the devil — ?” Mrs Cushings began, hurrying over to the window.

The door flew open. One of the stable hands rushed into the room, hair askew and eyes wild.

“Call Doctor Matson,” the boy gasped. “There’s been an accident!”

Everyone in the dining room rushed outside. Aziraphale followed them, caught in their wake like a piece of flotsam. He did not even have to miracle himself innocuous; instead he gasped when he stepped into the yard just like everyone else in the crowd. 

A carriage had just finished limping up to the inn. Two horses stood, blowing nervously while a sea of eager boys unfastened them. The horses looked exhausted, and Aziraphale could see why. It must have been a hard drag. The carriage was askew. One axle was gone and the three remaining wheels looked horribly damaged. The side of the carriage was scraped and covered in mud. 

“It rolled,” one of the men behind Aziraphale said. “See that gash on the side?”

A maid wrung her hands together nervously. “I do hope nobody was killed.”

Aziraphale prayed for the same as he watched. Several more men appeared, unhitching the horses, and three began to pull people from the carriage. There were two. A man emerged first carefully, seemingly hale. His attention was on whoever was behind him,offering a shoulder to lean upon. The second person emerged from the carriage.

Beside him, Mrs Cushings gasped. “My word!”

It was clearly Captain Elighton. He wore a Navy uniform fit for traveling with gold epaulets on his shoulders and a sea of metals on his chest. The man helping him from the carriage was clearly of Navy stock, likely his valet. He was a big burly man with a silk eyepatch. A third seaman jumped down from the driver’s seat to offer his assistance, a younger, reedy-looking man with rough hands. All three of them were unfashionably tanned. Remarkably, the only apparently injured one was the Captain.

It didn’t take a doctor to see what was wrong with him. The men carrying him were careful, but it was clear that one of his legs had been broken. The femur stuck out at an unnatural angle. Every movement caused a spasm of pain to cross his face. The Captain quite heroically never made a sound, but his lip was bleeding where he’d bit it through.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Aziraphale worried. His hands itched to heal the man. He never had been good with suffering. He had seen far too much already, and now this had happened, clearly at Crowley’s design.

And yet it  _ was  _ at Crowley’s design. Aziraphale twisted his hands together but promised himself that at least he could assure the break would heal cleanly. That was more than most poor souls in this century could assume.

“Right here, bring him through here!” Mrs Cushings said. She waved her hand and ushered the men carrying the Captain inside. “Captain Elighton! Bless my heart.”

Elighton’s face was creased with pained but he smiled when he saw the proprietress. “Mrs Cushings. It is lovely to see you again. I confess, I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“I should think so,” Mrs Cushings said. “Captain Elighton, what happened?”

“I was journeying north to visit my family,” Captain Elighton explained. There was a hitch of pain in his voice. “Something must have spooked the horse. It reared. I do not know what happened next, perhaps the wheel hit a rut, but either way, the entire carriage tipped. I regret to inform you I was quite flung about.”

“You were indeed,” Mrs Cushings said. She led the men who were carrying the Captain to a couch. They laid him upon it carefully. 

“‘Twas a snake, sir,” one of the men said, gripping his shoulder. It was the seaman with the eye patch Aziraphale had seen earlier. “I saw it on the road. Big and black he was, and mean looking. Poor Star never stood a chance.”

Aziraphale bite his lip.

“She is alright, though, is she not?” Captain Elighton asked worriedly. “She led the carriage well enough these past two miles.” 

“Aye, she’s alright,” his man replied and Aziraphale exhaled in relief. “Took a while to calm her, but she ain’t had more than a scare, and me an’ Willy got only the scrapes. You’re the one who was tossed around, Captain sir.”

“Well, it could have been worse,” Elighton said with a sigh. He seemed to notice where he was, then, and looked around. Something in his expression flattened. “Though it could certainly have been better.”

“I should say so,” Mrs Cushings replied tartly. “I don’na like the state of that leg. One of me boy’s gone to fetch Doctor Matson. You just rest here until he arrives. Do you wish me to ring the Darling’s?”

“No!” Captain Elighton said emphatically. He tried to rise from the couch, winced, and fell back again. “I mean, thank you very much, Mrs Cushings, but that will not be necessary. I am sure the good doctor can patch me up enough to be on my way.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Aziraphale interjected. “I do beg your pardon, but in such a state you should not be moved. I am currently staying at the Darling estate. It would be no trouble at all to inform them of your injuries.”

The Captain looked at him curiously. “And you are?”

“Oh, my apologies,” Aziraphale said, offering the man a bow. “My name is Fell. I run a bookshop in London. My friend, Mr Crowley, is staying with the family and Miss Darling has very generously offered me a room as well.”

“Mr Crowley?” the Captain said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“O’ course, you wouldn’t have heard,” Mrs Cushings said with a sharp look at Aziraphale. “There’s been quite a development at the great house, sir. Miss Darling’s engaged. Mr Crowley is her fiance.”

Aziraphale looked at the Captain. He disliked causing pain, but he  _ had  _ hoped for evidence of affection. The look of outright horror on the Captain’s face was all he might have wished.

  
  
  



	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

  


“Engaged,” Captain Elighton spluttered. “When?”

“Just this fortnight past,” Mrs Cushings said, “though Mr Fell here might know more of the details. Mr Crowley is his particular friend.”

Aziraphale blushed. He _ knew _none of the humans present reported back to Head Office, but he still had to resist the urge to deny the relationship.

“I see,” the Captain said. His face had gone rather alarmingly pale. “In that case, I would beg Mr Fell _ not _to report my injuries to the family. I would not want to mar such a happy occasion.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale interjected. “I have only known Miss Darling for a handful of hours but I already know she would have my head if I failed to mention your appearance here today. She is a most kind and considerate woman.”

Captain Elighton, for some reason, blushed and avoided his gaze. “Be that as it may,” he began, stumbling slightly on the words. Except he was interrupted by the sound of a heavy foot and the announcement that the doctor had arrived.

Doctor Matson appeared a sensible country doctor. He inspected the wound, declared the Captain could not be moved, and requisitioned a privacy screen. Aziraphale volunteered his aid in procuring one and so managed to be standing beside the Captain long after Doctor Matson had shooed everyone but the seamen out of the room. 

He blanched when the Doctor removed a pair of shears from his bag, as did the man with the eyepatch, but thankfully the doctor employed them only to cut away the Captain’s pants. 

“Well, it could be worse,” Doctor Matson declared after a thorough inspection. “It’s broken, but it’s broken clean. I’ll splint it and wrap it and it should heal true, so long as you rest it thoroughly for at least two months, more likely three.”

“Three months?” the Captain asked. His face had gone, if it were possible, even more pale. 

“It will be more if you attempt to put any weight on it,” Doctor Matson said sternly. “As it is, you are in little danger. A fragment could still break off and go to your heart. Full rest for at least two weeks. I’ll check on you regularly until then. Will you be staying here?”

The Captain pressed his lips together and did not look over at Aziraphale. “Yes, I will.”

“Alright then,” the doctor said. He stood and Aziraphale quietly miracled him a warm basin. The doctor took it with thanks and washed his hands. “Wrapped as it is now you should be free to move but mindful no jostling — ” this was said to the seamen, who nodded seriously — “and keep it clean. I will be by to check on you tomorrow.” With a final nod at them all, he left the inn.

The parlour was quiet after he had gone. Aziraphale stood by the screen, not quite knowing what to do with himself. The Captain looked down at his hands.

“Two weeks,” he said. He sounded defeated. His man with the eyepatch touched his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright, Cap’n,” his man said. “This here’s a nice little town. War’s over, anyway. We’ll get you settled in right quick.”

“Yes,” the Captain said. He passed a hand over his face and rather left it there, obscuring his eyes. “I will need my writing things. Hawke, Wally — would you be so good as to go and fetch them for me? And Mr — Fell, was it? Could you please inform Mrs Cushings that I would like a tray of food if at all possible?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said.

The parlour was a large open space, but they all moved to the other side of it to give the Captain behind his screen all the privacy that they could.

“Aw, the poor Cap’n,” the man with the eyepatch said quietly.

“He’ll be alright Hawke, just you see,” the other man — Wally, it must have been — said. “Doc said three months but I reckon he’ll be ready in two.”

“Yeah, but this place, the Cap’n hate it here. Wish we could move ‘em.”

“I am sorry, dear chaps,” Aziraphale interjected, “but could you perhaps inform me as to why? Why he detests the village, I mean.”

Hawke and Wally looked at each other warily. Aziraphale let a trickle of Heavenly Goodness flow out of him. It wasn’t cheating, he told himself, because he _ was _ an angel and he _ was _good and it was for the Captain’s own benefit, besides.

Hawke shrugged first. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “See, the Cap’n he was here lots before. I wasn’t with him then, had to stay on the ship, but I heard ’bout it later.”

“What did you hear?” Aziraphale asked.

Hawke looked around furtively before leaning in. “I heard he was sweet on Miss Darling.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, dragging the word out. “I _ did _hear something similar, I confess. I cannot for the life of me find out what happened, though. Why did he not offer for her?”

It was Wally’s turn to lean in. “See, that’s the thing,” he said. “I ’eard he _ did.” _

“No!” Aziraphale didn’t have to feign shock. “And she turned him down?”

Wally shrugged. “It’s barmy, but that’s what I ’eard. Why any woman would turn down the Cap’n I’ll never understood.”

Aziraphale looked thoughtfully at the door. “He is a very good Captain then, I gather?”

“The best,” Hawke said, loyally. “And it’s not just me an’ Wally who’ll say so. Ask any of me mates or his crew.”

“He’s fair as an easterly wind,” Wally confirmed, “and as tough. He’ll give you high hell when you deserve it but he won’t hang ye if ye don’t.”

“I see,” Aziraphalet said thoughtfully. “Yes, that is high praise. Perhaps Miss Darling did not realize what she was missing?”

“Well if she didn’t then, she should now,” Hawke said. “It’s been nigh on two years since the Cap’n’s been back.”

“And he came just as Miss Darling got engaged,” Wally said. “Ain’t that strange?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. He was already thinking. “Very.”

“Well, come on, then,” Hawke said. “The Cap’n’ll be wanting his things. Not sure where to put ‘em, though. He’ll be needing a room.”

Aziraphale put a hand up when Wally would have gone to look for Mrs Cushings. “Let me take care of that,” he said. “You two just see to his things.”

The men looked at each other but Hawke gave him a nod and they trundled off. Aziraphale took a deep breath and turned his focus inward.

_ Crowley, _ he said. It was not quite a prayer and not quite a summons. It was something more along the lines of a vibration, one which he hoped would communicate his wishes effectively. _ Crowley, I need you _. 

Then he took a deep breath and walked back towards the Captain. The poor man had been through enough. Aziraphale could take some of his pain away, at least.

  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

  


Aziraphale wasn’t sure if his summons had been heard or not but within a quarter of an hour he did perceive the jangle of a carriage on the drive.

It could have been anyone, of course. Aziraphale consoled himself with the knowledge that he had still made good use of the time. He had ensured the Captain was comfortable by alleviating some of his pain and finding a blanket to hide the worst of his cut-away trousers. He had secured trays of food for all the seamen — naturally taking a nibble for himself — and promised to speak upon the issue of a room with Mrs Cushings when she returned.

Unfortunately, Mrs Cushings had found herself in the pantry without quite knowing why. The time it would take her to emerge, smooth out her dress, and return to the great room would hopefully be enough for the occupants of the carriage to come forth. 

Indeed it was just so, for no sooner than Mrs Cushings had stepped back into the room, eliciting a turn of the head and a smile from the Captain, than did the door open and, lo, did Crowley and Miss Darling appear!

Aziraphale smiled broadly. Rising from his seat, he crossed the room and greeted them both effusively.

“My dear Mr Crowley, how lovely to see you again, and Miss Darling, a pleasure as always,” Aziraphale said, bowing low over her hand. 

“Mr Fell,” Crowley said, his lanquidity particularly on display, though his shoulders appeared tense. “We had expected you an hour ago. I confess I fair bullied poor Miss Darling into calling a carriage so that I may ensure for myself that you were not in any distress.”

There was humour in his tone but laid over barely concealed concern. Aziraphale winced. He had not meant for his summons to worry Crowley, yet it was clear it had.

“I am sorry, my dear,” he said, doubling the meaning, “but I was waylaid by one whose misfortune overtook my own and delayed my return to your company.” He turned and gestured to the figure on the couch who, were he able, looked as though he would most like to get up and run away. “Mr Crowley, may I introduce you to Captain Elighton. Miss Darling, I believe, needs no introduction.”

Captain Elighton looked first pale, then red, and then seemed to settle on an irate sort of pink. He gave what bow he could from the couch. “Mr Crowley, Miss Darling. Please forgive my inability to greet you properly.”

Miss Darling’s face had also became a study of contradictions. She appeared in quick succession interested, repulsed, concerned, and disaffected. For her part she seemed to settle on mild curiosity. “Captain Elighton. I had not expected to see you again in our quiet village.”

The word was a blow, its point as sharp as a sword, and though Aziraphale did not know the source of the blade he could perceive the wound as Captain Elighton winced.

“I assure you, Miss Darling, it was not my intention to return, I mean — ” his eyes widened, “ — I would have returned in an instant had I — that is, were — ” 

Aziraphale’s heart ached for the man. “Captain Elighton tells me he was on his way to the North,” he interjected, “to visit his family.”

“Ah,” Miss Darling said, her tone still sharp, “of course, your cousins in Scarborough.”

Another wound, though this time from a different blade. The Captain blushed.

“Yes, Miss Darling,” Elighton said. He did not appear able to meet her eyes. “We were only passing through when an accident befell my carriage.”

Miss Darling’s chin rose a fraction. “Are you much injured?” she asked. Her tone was cool but her eyes did look concerned, and they scanned him from head to toe much in the way Crowley had Aziraphale. “A broken leg, I see?”

Unexpectedly, the Captain smiled. “My lady was always astute.”

Her smiled thinned. “Not particularly.”

“No,” Captain Elighton said, and this time there was something of raw honestly in his voice. “You were. It was I who was blind.”

They held eye contact for longer than simple politeness dictated. Aziraphale felt buffeted by the contrarian waves of emotion emanating between them. Love and the power of lost love, ashy bitterness mixed with a strange wild sort of yearning.

It was Crowley who broke the moment. “Well that certainly appears to be quite the break,” he said, indicating the Captain’s leg. “Pray tell us how long you are laid up for?”

The Captain looked away from Miss Darling with a blush. “Doctor Matson estimates two or three months.”

“Three months!” Miss Darling said. Her eyes had gone wide. “So long?”

“No, of course not,” Crowley said. “These doctors are always cautious men. You shall be up in half the time, I expect.” He looked over at Aziraphale as he spoke, his eyes twinkling. Aziraphale could only smile slightly and look away.

Meddlesome serpent. How he loved him.

Wait, what?

“Will Mrs Cushings be able to see to your every need, do you expect?” Miss Darling was saying. “She is a great help, of course, but you shall be bored stiff, laid up for so long.”

Loved that _ about _ him, Aziraphale clarified hastily to himself, barely aware of the conversation as it continued around him. He lov— that is, he rather _ liked, _how focused Crowley could be. It was an admirable trait! A completely normal thing to appreciate!

“I will be satisfactorily engaged,” the Captain was saying firmly. “I have two men with me who had transferred from my ship to my personal employ upon the conclusion of the war. They will see to my comfort where Mrs Cushings cannot.”

Because appreciating things about ones friend’s was normal! There was surely nothing untoward about such an activity. No one — no one could notice such a thing, or hear of such a thing, and think — 

“Still, that is not enough, good sir,” Crowley interjected, dragging Aziraphale’s attention back to the conversation, “not for a hero such as yourself!” He turned to Miss Darling. “We were speaking only yesterday of the daring of this man. Surely there is room at Darling House for him? It would not do for word to get around England that the man who captured the _ President _is residing at Herringstone in an inn.” 

“No, please,” Captain Elighton said, his eyes widening, “I could not possibly impose — ”

But Miss Darling had pursed her lips. “It would not do indeed,” she was saying, more to herself than Crowley, it seemed, “but my mother is still in her mourning. She has enough guests at present as it is.”

“Please, Miss Darling,” Aziraphale said, seeing what Crowley was attempting to do. “Do not fail to see to the Captain’s comfort on my account. I can just as easily remain here, much more easily than Captain Elighton, I should add.”

“Though I do not see what is so scandalous about it,” Crowley said, with a quick glance at Aziraphale. “It is not as though you are holding a garden party or a ball. These will be quiet, respectful guests, and quite a comfort to her, for surely I know the Elighton’s and the Darlings have been friends for generations now. Indeed, I am sure the presence of the Captain will remind her of happier times.”

“Happier times?” Miss Darling asked.

“Comforting memories,” Aziraphale added.

Miss Darling looked straight at the Captain. “Oh? But memories can be painful.”

Captain Elighton swallowed. He opened his mouth and closed it several times. Miss Darling turned away from him and looked at Crowley.

“But perhaps it will be as you say,” she went on. “Surely such hospitality is our duty as good English people, to care for and support our soldiers. Very well. I will return to the house to discuss this with my mother. Mr Crowley, will you accompany me?”

Crowley bowed low over her hand. “Of course I will, Miss Darling.”

The two of them took their leave, with Miss Darling holding her head high and Crowley throwing one last look at Aziraphale. Aziraphale, still flustered, could only barely return it. Captain Elighton, for his part, appeared lost.

His expression changed to bitterness, however, when Crowley and Miss Darling had gone. “I see my opinion on my own convalescence matters little.”

“My dear sir,” Aziraphale said. “Surely you cannot fault your friends for wishing to comfort you.”

The Captain’s shoulders shoulders shook in what was either silent laughter, or silent tears. “‘Friends,’ yes of course.” He turned away. “If you do not mind Mr Fell, I should like to be left alone.”

“Of course, sir,” Aziraphale said. He rose immediately. “Would you like me to fetch your man?”

“Later,” the Captain said. He sounded exhausted, and despondent, and sad. “Much, much later, if you please.”

  
  
  



	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten:

The transfer of Captain Elighton to Darling House took place under the careful eye of Doctor Matson. All due care was taken to prevent jostling on the road. The Captain, being a naval man, was more accustomed to injury than Doctor Matson’s usual patients and bore the transfer in stoic silence. This did not endear him to the good doctor, however, for he was much more at ease with whiny protests, the varying pitch of which he could use to determine the true degree of injury.

Hawke and Wally did their duty well, depositing the Captain in his room. Doctor Matson gruffly agreed that the leg had not suffered in transport. He lingered long enough to detail instructions on the dose and timing of the drought he had procured for the Captain and left with a promise to return to check on his patient the following day.

The Captain bore this, as he had every other transgression that had weighed upon his happiness in the past twenty-four hours, with a clenched jaw. Aziraphale saw it, and felt the waves of emotion emanating from the man, and winced.

One good thing did come of the move, however, and that was that Mrs Darling smiled again. Her gaze held true fondness when she looked upon the Captain and bade him to convalesce at Darling House for as long as he liked. 

“Excellent,” Crowley said to Aziraphale when they were alone again with their brandy after the women had gone through — Captain Elighton had taken a tray in his room, and indeed it would be many weeks before he was well enough to come down for dinner, Aziraphale felt sure — “She will soon enough remember why she likes him and will turn against our match. The day after that Miss Darling will follow.”

“I do not know, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He thought of the poor man upstairs and the poor woman down here who waited below. “There is clearly more to their history than we know. I was informed today that his men believe Captain Elighton  _ did  _ offer for Miss Darling but that she refused him.”

Crowley’s face fell. “Well, that’s just bloody perfect. Absolutely brilliant.” He made a rude gesture and his brandy refilled from the sideboard without his having to stand. “That clearly complicates matters.”

“It does indeed,” Aziraphale said. He looked at his friend carefully. After the tumult of emotion flooding through the house, it should have been relaxing to spend time in Crowley’s company, for as an occult being, Aziraphale could not read him. Except something made his interest in his friend more intense that evening and he could not resist studying every pane of his face.

_ That’s because your in love with him, _ some traitorous part of his mind supplied.  _ Acknowledge it already. _

_ I will do nothing of the sort, _ Aziraphale told that part of himself firmly.  _ Crowley is simply an old friend. _

An old friend he hadn’t seen nearly enough through the centuries.

“You know,” Aziraphale said, the realization coming to him even as he spoke it out loud, “we’ve never shared a house together. This will be our first time.”

Crowley, for some reason, blushed and looked away. “Just figuring that out now, are we?” he asked quietly. Then, louder, “‘Sides, it's not true. What about that party way back in, when was it, sixteen-sixty-four?”

“In Florence? No, my dear, you are off by a decade at least, and I was not staying there. I was simply over quite a lot.”

Crowley tipped his head so his glasses slipped halfway down his nose. “Yes, you were, weren’t you?”

Aziraphale flushed, though he hardly knew why. There was absolutely nothing about the situation to flush about. “Yes, well, I was there to bless the birth of a baby and she was two weeks late in coming if you recall.”

“I do recall,” Crowley said, his tone going quiet again. “They were a rather good few weeks.”

“Yes, they were,” Aziraphale agreed, just as quietly. A lovely city, Florence, and so lively, but quieter in the apartment of a woman awaiting the birth of her child, and Crowley always there to talk to.

The woman’s brother had been a priest Crowley had been ordered to tempt into spending the money he’d collected for the poor. Crowley hadn’t seemed to put much effort into the assignment, at least not while Aziraphale had been around. Aziraphale had stretched his visit into a full month with that in mind — or so he’d been prepared to argue, had anyone asked.

He cleared his throat. “And now we are here. With two of us in the house, perhaps we will manage to bless this rose before the summer ends.”

“Yes, I haven’t even managed to see it,” Crowley groused. He threw a look over his shoulder in the direction of the garden. “I’ve thought about strolling out at midnight, miracling the grounds so no one would see, but…” He trailed off.

“But you wanted to see it in sunshine?” Aziraphale guessed.

Crowley pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Better to judge the character of it,” he said, gruffly, “though it can’t be that special if Heaven’s gotten all in a row about it.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I suppose we shall have to wait and see. Perhaps we can contrive to push Captain Elighton around the gardens.”

“Yes, Elighton,” Crowley said. “How  _ are  _ we going to release me from this bloody engagement? The knife’s looking better all the time, Angel.”

“Not another word about that,” Aziraphale said sternly, “and do not be worried, I have an idea.”

  
  


*

  
  


Aziraphale began carrying out his plan the next morning. He ‘woke’ early, setting out from his rooms after the sideboard had been set but before either of the Darlings had emerged to break their fast. Gathering a tray, he filled it with delicacies he thought the Captain’s men might like and set off to find them.

Hawke, as a valet, had been given a room in the nicer section of the male servant quarters. Wally, as a man-of-all-things, had been given one less so. It was the work of a moment to plant the suggestion in both men’s minds that they were getting peckish and then to meet them on the stairs.

“Ah, Hawke and Wally, just the men I wanted to see,” Aziraphale said. He lifted the tray. “I was not sure if either of you had broken your fasts as of yet, and when I saw the selection, it came to my mind that you may not have eaten lately as well as is proper for two men recently returned from sea.”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly,” Hawke said, though his eyes lingered on the tray anyway. Wally was obviously licking his lips.

“Of course you can. After all, you are heroes yourselves for your work against the French,” Aziraphale said jovially. And Crowley claimed he couldn’t work a temptation. “It will be on my head anyway should the tray be found. Here, come back to my room and enjoy it with me.”

He turned and, sure enough, the men followed. Aziraphale showed them to his room and allowed them to devour the contents of the tray. He was truly pleased to see both men enjoy the excellent food. He only broached his topic once their appetites had waned.

“Now, my good men,” Aziraphale said, clasping his hands together. “I have a confession to make.”

This made both of their heads pop up, almost in unison, and it would have been comical if their expressions had not been so grave.

“Oh, really,” Hawke said, and he was reaching for his boot, “is that so?”

The hardness of his voice reminded Aziraphale with a shiver that these were bloodied soldiers who had stormed enemy ships.

“It is nothing against your master,” Aziraphale corrected quickly, “and indeed it may be to his benefit. You see, I do not think Miss Darling should marry my friend Crowley. I rather think she and the Captain are the better match.”

He watched the effect of this pronouncement upon their countenances. Hawke sighed and put his hand back in his lap. Wally looked first sideways at Hawke and then back at Aziraphale. 

“What makes you say that?” Wally asked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Simply that I know my friend. He quite admires Miss Darling. Indeed, what man could not? But I do not believe he is wholly in love with her, while the face of your Captain upon seeing her again was painful to behold.”

“Aye,” Hawke said heavily. “He slept only from exhaustion last night, I think. He’s right troubled to be back here.”

“But here is where he needs to be,” Aziraphale put forward, “if he is to win her heart.”

“But how can he do that?” Wally interjected. “When he could’na done it before?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips as if in thought. “The Captain has several advantages this time that I do not believe he had before. Miss Darling clearly feels something towards him. The turn of her expression upon seeing him was almost as violent as his.” He turned to Wally. “I know you had heard that Captain Elighton had offered for her and that she refused him, but I have it in my mind that it was more complicated than that. I suspect there were a great deal of misunderstandings between them. There still may be, in fact.”

“But if that is true,” Hawke put in, “how are we to correct them?”

Aziraphale spread his hands. “That is why I have confessed all of this to you. I do not know Captain Elighton as well as the two of you. Not every man has the courage to propose to a woman for a second time. Do you think Captain Elighton would balk, even if we were to bring to him evidence that her affections might have changed?”

Hawke and Wally shared a look. “The Captain is the most brave sort of man,” Hawke declared firmly. “If anyone can do it, it’s him.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Very well then, gentlemen. Let us plan.”

  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

  
  


It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to put his plan into effect. The men left with their instructions that very morning and Aziraphale began his own volley when walked back downstairs to break his fast. He found Miss Darling at the sideboard and asked if she would allow him use of the library for he had a strong desire to read Shakespeare after their conversation the other night. She agreed readily and even promised she would join him later that day.

Crowley kept himself scare. Aziraphale didn’t know if he was finally taking a turn about the garden or engaged with the Captain, but when Hawke and Wally carried Captain Elighton down after lunch, he was nowhere to be found. That worked out well for it decreased tensions in the sitting room. 

The Captain, for his part, was displeased. He said several times that he would have been perfectly content to remain in his room. Aziraphale was glad his men had convinced him. Aziraphale had told them that under no circumstances were they to allow this boorish behaviour and that they could use for their argument the loneliness of Mrs Darling. Truly, it did that woman good to smile at Captain Elighton and speak quietly of happier times.

It all seemed to be going rather well. Unfortunately, Aziraphale’s evening schedule did not go as planned. 

Crowley had found them again for dinner. They finished eating and had passed into the parlour from the dining room, Captain Elighton having take his food on a tray inside the room. Crowley was seated by Aziraphale and Miss Darling beside her mother and Mrs Winter. Captain Elighton sat alone on the couch. 

“Miss Darling,” Aziraphale began, “I wonder if you might engage with me a reading of Shakespeare? We had such a wonderful time this morning discussing our favourite passages.”

Miss Darling looked for a moment as though she would have agreed, but before she could say so, the Captain intervened.

“Yes,” he said, “please do, for I would enjoy hearing your rendition of Shakespeare.”

“Oh,” Miss Darling said, her expression souring. “I am sorry, Mr Fell, but I do not think that is a good idea. I would not want anyone to accuse me of  _ vanity.” _

The last was said quite directly to Captain Elighton. He flushed and could not hold her gaze, looking away. “I — ” he tried. “I would never — ”

“Never?” Miss Darling asked, one brow arched. “Really?”

The Captain coloured again but Aziraphale thought it rather with anger, this time, than embarrassment. “I would not  _ presume — ” _

“No,” Miss Darling said, cutting him off, “of course not. The Navy raises men properly, after all.” She rose and turned to her mother. “Perhaps we might set out a card table. That would make for a lovely diversion, would it not?”

Mrs Darling could only agree. Soon a card table was arranged and they all sat around it, save the Captain, who begged them not to set it too close to the couch so that he could play, but to keep in the middle of the room which would better serve their own comfort. He declared in a firm tone he had no great desire to play and would gain much more enjoyment from watching them.

They could not play for stakes with Mrs Darling still in mourning but they did several rounds of whist. Mrs Winter accorded herself well, as did Crowley and Miss Darling, but Aziraphale found very little of his attention on the game. 

The Captain put in a good show of not being miserable but it was clear that he was. 

The party did not linger overly long. Crowley soon excused himself, sparing only a quick look at Aziraphale, who shook his head. Mrs Darling followed. Miss Darling and Mrs Winters sat for a few more moments, reading quietly until they finally retired, and then it was just Aziraphale and Captain Elighton in the room.

The Captain seemed to take this as an opportunity to sigh loudly. He let his head fall back against the cushions and looked up at the molding. “I suppose I should call Hawke and Wally to help me upstairs.”

Aziraphale eyed him sympathetically. “It must be very tiring to have to rely on others for something you are used to doing yourself.”

The Captain gave a short, bitter-sounding laugh. “It is,” he said, “but that is nothing as to being in a place where I am unwelcome.”

Aziraphale shifted guilitly. “I do not think you are  _ un _ welcome — ”

“Please,” the Captain said wearily, “do not think to spare my feelings in this regard. It must be obvious to all that Miss Darling hates me.”

“‘Hate’ is rather a strong word,” Aziraphale said cautiously, “but there is clearly bad feeling between you two.” He hesitated. “Would it be terrible of me to ask why?”

The Captain rolled his head to look at him. His expression was bleak. “Surely your friend has given you the basics?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I did hear that there was a — a tender between you two. I do not know more than that.”

“Then let me educate you,” the Captain said bitterly, “on the many ways in which a man may offend a woman.”

Aziraphale gave him his most gentle smile. “I am all ears.”

“You see,” the Captain began, “Miss Darling and I played together as children. Our fathers were great friends and my brother was at school so it was often Miss Darling and I against the world.” He smiled tenderly. “I was older than her, of course, but not by enough, and a great friendship arose between us. Unfortunately, in what you shall soon discover is an ongoing theme in this story, my pride got in the way.”

He turned away, his voice going bitter. “I could have chosen to rely on my family for my livelihood but I did not wish to. I decided instead to enroll in the Navy. At first I was able to visit often, for my father used his connections to ensure I had favourable assignments and ships, but war has a way of playing havoc. I was away more often than I was not. 

“I finally saw Miss Darling again over two years ago. I was home while my ship underwent repairs and my father was visiting at Darling House. I elected to join him. I rode here in a flurry of excitement knowing Miss Darling to be home. I remembered her as the girl she had been and felt anxious to see her.

“But then I arrived, and I suppose you know the rest. Miss Darling was not a girl anymore but a woman and a beautiful woman at that. She also had suitors hanging off every arm. I learned only once I had arrived that the party at Darling House was not the private, comfortable affair I had been expecting but a vast summer party with any number of guests. Young men from rich and powerful families were here, and though there were other ladies present, I do not exaggerate when I say that Miss Darling with the jewel of the room. 

“I confess, Mr Fell, I acted very poorly. I became a hateful, jealous creature. I should have remembered my place and wooed her, reminded her of our childish adventures and sought out her smiles. Instead, I tempted her into rousing discussions simply to see the flush of her cheeks when she argued and goaded her into frivolities. My behaviour may still have been salvageable did I not make that most crucial of mistakes.”

Aziraphale winced.

“Yes,” Captain Elighton said, nodding sharply. “I proposed to her. I proposed in the most horrifying manner, insulting as I did her generosity, her kindness, and her dedication of spirit. In truth, I gave her no choice but to refuse me.” 

His voice softened, turned introspective. “I think now that I did it on purpose. I believe I thought I had no chance with her and so foolishly decided it would be better to roll the dice and lose then never to have rolled at all. But there was no satisfaction in her answer, for she made me understand in that horrible moment that had I behaved in any other manner, her hand would have been mine.”

The Captain lifted his head to stare at Aziraphale. There was agony in his expression, and Aziraphale, who had watched civilizations rise and fall, found himself moved. “I left that very night. I have not seen her since. I thought of sending a letter when her father was killed, but then we engaged in some difficult action and had to put in at a distant port. By the time any mail could have reached her, the news would have been long overdue.” He laughed bitterly. “Or so I told myself. I had barely returned to England’s shores when news of Napoleon's escape arrived and war was mustered again. After Waterloo I returned to London only long enough to request six month’s leave and hire a carriage. I had no desire to do anything but return home.”

“And instead you found yourself here,” Aziraphale murmured, “back in the house that holds such memories for you.”

“Yes,” the Captain said quietly. “I knew in my heart that she would find someone else. I am only surprised that it took her this long. I was sure she would last only a fortnight with all the men hanging off of her. I expected an announcement at any time.”

Aziraphale shook her head. “No, you must see now that she did not desire those men and chose my friend only because her situation had altered. Two years ago her father was alive and there was still hope — however faint — that you might return and apologize. But then her father was killed and the estate was left to her. My friend is likely the first man she has met who has treated her kindly and assured her she would face no challenge in the running of the estate. Crowley tells me the engagement was nearly all her idea.”

For some reason, this made the Captain smile. “She has always been the headstrong one.”

“But you see,” Aziraphale pushed, “this means all hope is not lost.”

The Captain shook his head. “Surely you can see that it is. She despises me, and so she should.”

“Miss Darling does harbour a great many feelings towards you,” Aziraphale said carefully. “She is angry, yes, and hurt, but if anything there is true passion in her reactions towards you — not the sort of passion you might have hoped for, perhaps — but there is great energy all the same. She is certainly not cold.”

“No,” Captain Elighton said thoughtfully. “I suppose she is not.”

“So all we have to do,” Aziraphale said comfortingly, “is hope. That, and plan.”

At this, the Captain looked at him curiously. “I do not need to ask why you wanted to know this, for I am familiar with the curiosity close association can bring, but why would you design to help me? Is not Mr Crowley your particular friend?”

“He is,” Aziraphale admitted. It was not, in the end, so very difficult an admission to make, “and, as his friend, I feel that marriage to Miss Darling is not in his best interest. He is a curious soul, my Crowley, and I feel that, as interesting as he currently may find it, being tied to an estate such as this would not bring him joy. I fear he will grow to resent Miss Darling for her attachment to this place and what love he has for her will turn.”

Aziraphale did not allow himself to focus on his own words as they spilled across his lips. He was thinking of Darling House only, not of his bookshop. He was thinking of Crowley and Miss Darling together, not of Crowley and himself. Even though Crowley had teased him many times for moving too slowly, for putting down roots, for not being willing to just pack up and go with the rapidity at which he did all things. Even though Aziraphale had been waiting for millennia for Crowley to become tired with him, to move on, to visit him no longer in his shop.

“If that is the case,” Captain Elighton was saying slowly, “than separating your friend from Miss Darling would be in Miss Darling’s best interest.”

“It would,” Aziraphale assured him, dragging himself back to the present, “and if Miss Darling were to remember all the things that she loved about you, and if she were to rekindle that affection, well, that would be the best for everyone, I think.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

  
  


Poor Miss Darling, it seemed she could not go anywhere in her own house without someone gushing over Captain Elighton.

Hawke and Wally entertained the servants with tales of their adventures and the daring of their Captain, just as Aziraphale had suggested they do, and soon the maids were tittering over his exploits as they dusted the tables. The housekeeper exclaimed with the butler as he cleaned the silver, the cook with the scullery maid as she swept the floor. Aziraphale himself asked the Captain to relate an exploit over dinner. He had thought it would take weeks for the Captain to join them but some enterprising soul had converted one of the chairs into a kind of couch and so there he was, seated with the group that very evening at supper. It took less effort than Aziraphale would have wagered to goad him into sharing one of his exploits. Surprisingly, he told the story rather well, explaining the ship-based maneuvers in such a way that even lay people could understand. 

Miss Darling seemed interested almost despite herself. She kept leaning forwards until her elbow slipped. Then she would scowl and sit back. 

They were still cursed to suffer through cards again after dinner but Miss Darling did not purposefully goad the Captain this time. The next day she even almost-if-not-quite smiled at him over the sideboard, and so Aziraphale felt comfortable enough in the power of Mrs Winter’s presence to request that Crowley join him for a walk about the grounds.

“Yes, please,” Crowley agreed instantly, practically leaping up off the couch. “Just let me get my hat, if you will.”

Aziraphale waited for him by the front door, smiling benignly at the butler and thanking him when they were let out.

“I couldn’t take another bloody minute in that drawing room,” Crowley groused the moment they were alone. “How have people not died of boredom in this century already?”

“Mrs Darling is still in mourning,” Aziraphale reminded him. “It would not do to have a big hurrah.”

“Why not?” Crowley grumbled. “I’m sure her husband would have loved it. A giant party with a hundred guests, better than all this tip-toeing about.”

Aziraphale chuckled quietly. “You detest crowds, my dear.”

“No I don’t,” Crowley lied, “and besides, anything would be better than this. Sitting around on couches all day staring at each other.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Which is why the gentry ride and plan card parties, my dear, as well as — oh, I do not know. Many other things. The servants are the ones who do all the work. It takes quite a lot of them to achieve this level of indulgence, after all.”

“Perfect setting for a temptation, of course,” Crowley muttered. “Rich, bored people hanging about. ‘Cept with you here I can’t.” 

“True,” Aziraphale agreed, “that would look rather odd, but buck up — it is a lovely day for a stroll, at least.”

Crowley looked over. A moment later, he smiled. “I suppose it is.”

They took their time. By mutual decision they avoided the rose garden — they  _ should  _ have tended to it by now, Aziraphale knew, but it seemed easier to placate Crowley with beautiful flowers other than the one he had been assigned to — and wandered the grounds. They were truly beautiful. Crowley snapped at a row of hydrangeas and  _ tisked  _ at the state of the apple trees but by the end of the afternoon something had loosened in his shoulders and he was almost smiling as they returned to the house.

“I needed that,” Crowley admitted.

“Should I make you say thank you?’” Aziraphale teased.

“You wouldn’t,” Crowley mock-growled. 

Aziraphale laughed.

Dinner that night was a more comfortable affair. Miss Darling and Captain Elighton had passed the hours without bloodshed and the air between them was somewhat less hostile than it had been. In the drawing room Aziraphale even risked opening one of the books he had brought with him,  _ Waverly  _ by Walter Scott, and found himself applied to by Mrs Darling to read it for the group.

He did so, to general acclaim, and the next morning found Miss Darling and the Captain debating the plot of the novel as they broke their fast together. Slipping out before either could take note of him, Aziraphale smiled and went off to find Crowley. Perhaps they could try fishing this afternoon. Mrs Darling had a stream she said she was sure was full of trout.

All told, almost a week passed in such pleasant manner. Without the stress of Crowley’s impending discorporation hanging over them, Aziraphale found himself taking for granted the demon’s company. It was too wonderful to exit his room and know that Crowley was nearby, to be assured of his company at mealtimes, to have the pleasure of his attention for whatever afternoon activities they had planned. He rather thought Crowley was enjoying their time as well, and so was unprepared when the demon slowed his steps upon their return to the house and looked over at Aziraphale.

“I think I’ve got to have a conversation with Miss Darling, and soon. Her smiles toward the Captain are becoming more noticeable. The servants are starting to talk.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. He swallowed hard. “Yes, of course. Only, might it not take longer? Another month, perhaps? The August sun is so lovely and there are so many things we have not experienced yet.”

Crowley turned to him with a faint smile. “Like what, Angel?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, thinking hard, “I do not know. The duck pond, perhaps. Fascinating creatures, ducks.”

Crowley laughed gently. “There are ducks in London, Angel.”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale fretted, “it is simply — ”

Crowley turned to him. “Simply, what?”

Aziraphale found his words dying in his throat. Had Crowley been standing so close a second ago? “Simply that… I have enjoyed this week very much.”

“Have you?” Crowley asked. His voice was low. “And what have you enjoyed, Angel?”

Aziraphale almost said  _ Your company, of course,  _ but no, that wasn’t it, certainly. It was  _ part  _ of it, to be sure, but there were also the lovely grounds, and the August sun, and — and — 

A voice in the back of his head was trying to say something, very loudly, but Aziraphale ignored it. He  _ had  _ to ignore it. If he didn’t — 

He’d been quiet for too long. Crowley stepped back. 

“Of course, one enjoys the country at times,” Crowley was saying. Aziraphale heard him as if from very far away. He felt dizzy. “London can be a bit much after a while.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, “certainly.” He swallowed several times. “But now I have my bookshop, so perhaps it  _ is  _ best if I — if we get back.”

“Hm,” Crowley said. He wasn’t looking at Aziraphale any more. He had turned to face the ground. “I suppose so.”

Aziraphale felt a sudden clutch in his chest. “You will join me, surely?”

“Yes, of course,” Crowley said, rather too quickly. He seemed to catch himself and coughed. “If you wish me to, of course.”

“Certainly I do,” Aziraphale said, except then the voice in the back of his mind started humming again, so he added, “though perhaps we have been pushing our luck.”

Crowley stilled.

“I mean,” Aziraphale hurried to say, “we can both explain our presence here to our Head Offices, you were thwarting me and I was thwarting you, but in London — in London we each have our own jobs to do, you see.”

“Yes, of course,” Crowley said. His voice was flat.

“And — and it has been lovely, dear boy,” Aziraphale went on, desperate now, without quite knowing how or why, “but you see, you know the danger as well as I do. If — ”

Crowley sighed and held up a hand. “Yes, Angel,” he said tiredly. “I know the danger, of course I do. So when we’re done with,” he gestured to house,  _ “this,  _ I suppose it would be best if we went our separate ways? For a time, at least.”

“I — I suppose so,” Aziraphale agreed quietly. The voice in the back of his mind had gone silent. He rather thought it was weeping. “Not for too long, of course, but for a little while. A few years...”

“Right,” Crowley said. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Impulsively, Aziraphale reached up and laid a hand on Crowley’s arm. “But we have a few days yet, surely? Miss Darling — the rumours — they can wait a little longer? Maybe not a month, but, perhaps a week?

Crowley smiled at him sadly. “Of course they can, Angel. Of course they can.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

  
  


Aziraphale had never gotten the hang of sleep, but even if he had, he was sure he would have passed a restless night that evening. He paced his room, attempted several times to divert his attention to  _ Waverly, _ but failed regularly.

A week. He could plan the perfect week, surely? A week to enjoy themselves to the utmost, to focus less on worrying about other people and more on being in this particular place, at this particular time, together. He rather thought he might plan a picnic and a walk to the duck pond. Maybe horseback riding? Except no, Crowley didn’t go for that. They could borrow Miss Darling’s landau instead and take a ride amongst the fields. 

A week and then they would go their separate ways because no matter what Aziraphale felt, no matter what he thought he _ might  _ feel, maybe, if he dared acknowledge it, was that spending time with Crowley was not safe. It was not safe for him and it was certainly not safe for Crowley. Aziraphale would do more than deny himself the pleasure of the demon’s company to keep him not only corporeal but alive.

And so, a week. A week and not a day more, and then Crowley would return to his flat and Aziraphale to his bookshop and it would be a decade, perhaps two, before they saw each other again.

Aziraphale could bare it. He’d born it before.

Dawn came finally followed by the sounds of the maids lighting the fires, and then it was late enough that Aziraphale could emerge.

The sideboard was once again filled with delicacies. Aziraphale chose his selection and ate alone, as he often did — humans who required sleep very rarely exited their rooms before him — and decided he would sit in the library until lunch. Crowley would find him there and they could plan this first day of their last week together.

Except, oddly enough, the library doors were closed. Aziraphale pushed on them gently. They opened just far enough for him to hear the hum of voices, and he stopped. 

Someone was crying.

“You must think me a horrid, flighty creature,” a woman said. She sounded stuffed. Was it Miss Darling? But then who — ?

“Not in the least,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale knew it was him in an instant. “I think you have done everything you could, everything your place in society allows you to do, to preserve your home and your happiness.”

Aziraphale heard a sniffle. There was the rustle of cloth. Likely Crowley was handing her his handkerchief. 

“My own happiness used to be all that was important. The Captain did not err when he accused me of vanity. That is why it hurt so much when he hurled the words at me — it stung because it was true.”

“I do not think of you as vain.”

“And yet I did treat him callously. I wanted him to shout his love for me, but that was never who he was, and expecting him to be otherwise led me to doubt the truth of his affections when they were finally declared.”

Crowley made a sound that seemed to come from low in his throat. “It sounds to me as though his declaration could have used some work.”

A watery laugh. “Perhaps it could have — yes, certainly it could have — and yet the fault did not lie with him alone.”

A beat of silence

“It must have truly hurt you, when he went away.”

“It did,” Miss Darling said. Her voice wobbled. “It pained me terribly. I thought, I really thought, that he would return to me.”

“So he might have done, if not for the war.”

“Perhaps.”

“But when your father died everything changed.”

“Yes.” There was a heavy sigh. “I loved Papa dearly, and I do not mean to speak ill of the dead, but I was so unprepared for the responsibilities he left me. I should have been better educated in the ways of the estate.”

“I think you have done a fine job.”

“I know,” Miss Darling said, and Aziraphale could hear a smile in her voice, “which is why I proposed to you.”

“Aa ha!” Crowley exclaimed. “So you do admit it?”

A laugh. “Yes, I do. I can, now. I should likely apologize — ”

“Please do not,” Crowley asked, sounding wry. “It would sound disingenuous.”

“It need not be so.”

“And yet, are you sorry?”

“Truly? No. Does that make horrible?”

“I think it makes you human.”

A gentler laugh. “That is okay then.”

“Yes,” Crowley said. His tone was fond. “I rather think it is.”

Another pause.

“So what shall you do, then?” Miss Darling asked. “Now that I have released you from your obligation?”

“Go back to London, I expect.”

“Soon?”

“I will have to,” Crowley said heavily, “it would look odd if I were to stay after all becomes known.”

“I know, it is just — ” her tone was hesitant, “ — you seem happy here.”

Crowley’s voice became painfully honest. “I have been.”

“And yet you will not stay?”

“Not for much longer, I think.”

“I see. And Mr Fell?”

“Why do you ask me?”

“Oh, no reason, I am sure. Only that the two of you are often out together.”

“We are friends.”

“Good friends, I can see.”

Crowley said something too quiet to hear. Aziraphale strained his ears but could catch only Miss Darling’s reply.

“Ah, I see. So it is like that, then?”

“Yes.”

_ Like what? _ Aziraphale wanted to shout. He put a hand on the door and realized only then that he was eavesdropping quite shamelessly. He blushed. Maybe Crowley really was wearing off on him.

Unfortunately, his introspection meant he was caught unprepared when steps sounded so close to the door. In a flurry, Aziraphale took himself to the end of the hall, remembering only at the last minute to turn as though he were walking towards the library.

The doors opened when he was still ten steps from the door.

“Oh, Mr Fell,” Miss Darling said. Her eyes were red but her cheeks were dry. She did indeed have Crowley’s handkerchief clutched in one hand. “Looking for the library, I see?”

“Good morning, Miss Darling, Mr Crowley.” Aziraphale bowed, as much as to be polite as to hide his face from Crowley. Was he blushing? His cheeks felt red. “I confess I was.”

“Do not let us keep you then. I was thinking of taking a turn about the garden later. Would you care to join me?”

Aziraphale blinked, surprised. “I would be delighted.”

“Very well, I will meet you by the door in an hour. Good day, gentlemen.” She nodded to them both and left.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. He caught his friend watching her go. “Are you alright, my dear?”

“Hm?” Crowley turned back to him. “Oh, yes, of course.” He crossed both hands behind his back. “She released me from the engagement.”

Aziraphale had been hoping he’d heard wrong. “So soon? I thought you were going to wait a week to bring it up.”

Was Crowley looking at him? It was so dreadfully hard to see behind his glasses. “I was. She brought it up to me. She thought she was not being fair, you see.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. He looked back down the hall. “A conscientious girl.”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed. His face scrunched together, making an expression Aziraphale could not interpret. “I guess we’ve lost our week, then.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I thought — perhaps — ”

Crowley did turn to him then. “Yes?”

Aziraphale stared at him. What could he say? “I — suppose we have, then.”

“Right,” Crowley said. He straightened his jacket. “Well, I’d better hit the sideboard before there’s nothing left. Enjoy your walk, Angel.” With a sharp nod that might have been directed to Aziraphale’s general direction, he turned and walked away.

Aziraphale thought of a half-dozen things he could say. They lodged together in his throat. In the end he simply stood and watched Crowley walk away.

  
  
  
  
  



	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

  
  


Miss Darling looked peaceful as she walked with Aziraphale in the garden. Her shoulders were loose and her countenance was bright. She looked at home.

Which she was, of course. It was odd that she had not looked so before today. 

“Thank you for accompanying me, Mr Fell. I know you must wonder at my reasons for asking you.”

“I confess that I do,” Aziraphale said, guiding them subtly away from the roses. “Would you be willing to tell me now?”

Miss Darling glanced over her shoulder. “I think we are far enough away from the house, yes.” She seemed to square her shoulders. “It is simply this: I have released your friend from our engagement.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. 

She looked at him carefully. “You do not sound surprised.”

Aziraphale wondered how much to say. “It is just that,” he began carefully, “I wondered how much affection truly lay between you.”

Surprisingly, she smiled. “You did sound very shocked when first you heard.”

“I was,” Aziraphale agreed, “not that I do not believe a love can grow between two people who appear, on the outset, to have very little in common, but I wondered if it was possible between you and my friend.”

“We shall never know now,” Miss Darling murmured. “I think it might have done, on my part at least, but it is not to be. I had to confess the truth to him and now to you. My heart has long been set on another.”

Aziraphale smiled gently. “Captain Elighton?”

She nodded stiffly. “Even so.”

Aziraphale took in her sudden tenseness. “Do you doubt his affections?”

Miss Darling let out a breath. “Truly? No. Except we have such a history between us now. It is not as things were in the beginning when we were young and foolish and first falling in love.”

Her words struck a chord with him. “Time has a way of aging us.”

“That it does,” Miss Darling agreed. “I know he loved me once, and I know I love him still, and yet I do not know if that will be enough.”

“I should like to think it will be.”

She turned to smile at him. “That makes two of us, then.”

Aziraphale smiled back. “When shall you tell him?”

Her eyebrows rose. “That I love him?”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale agreed, “but I was thinking more of the end of your engagement to Mr Crowley.”

“Oh,” Miss Darling said. Her smile turned wicked. “Maybe in another week or so. After all, it is not as though he can go anywhere this time.”

Aziraphale surprised himself by laughing. “Miss Darling, I think I can see what my friend saw in you.”

Her eyes glittered mischievously. “Perhaps we would not have made such a bad match, then.”

“Perhaps not.”

“And yet I will remain here, and he will return to London. I understand that you live there as well, Mr Fell.”

“I do,” Aziraphale agreed. “As you know, I own a bookshop.”

“A noble profession.”

“More of a hobby, actually,” Aziraphale confessed. “I do not particularly enjoy  _ selling  _ my books.”

She laughed gently. “No, I do not imagine that you do. You may take your pick from my father’s library before you go, certainly. I am sure it was what he would have wanted. You corresponded regularly, I understand.”

“Er, yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “Though I would not take one of your books. They are your legacy now.” He paused for a moment. “I do have another favour I would ask of you, though.”

“Anything.”

“Excuse my company? I rather think my friend will want to leave on the morrow, and there is one thing I wished to do with him before he does.”

Miss Darling extended her hand. “Certainly. Thank you again, Mr Fell. For everything.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “You are most welcome, my dear. Peace and long life to you, and happiness in all that you do.” 

She smiled and he could see the gentle benediction as it settled around her. “That was beautiful, Mr Fell.”

He let go of her hand. “I do try, my dear.”

  
  


*

  
  


The cook was happy enough to give him yesterday’s bread which was not quite stale but easy enough to crumble. Clutching at it, Aziraphale found Crowley brooding in the conservatory and ushered him out onto the grounds.

“Where are we going?” Crowley grumbled. He’d left his tophat inside.

“To the duck pond,” Aziraphale said, handing him his half of the bread.

“You and these ducks,” Crowley said, but he accepted the handful.

“Well, it is only that,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. They were nearly there. “There is a duck pond in London, you see.”

Crowley turned to look at him.

Aziraphale tried to keep his gaze straight ahead. “I thought it might make a nice place to meet, sometimes. Lots of people go to feed the ducks, after all. It might — we might not even be noticed there.”

Crowley was staring. “Oh.”

Aziraphale knew he was blushing again. He tried to make himself stop. The pond was, in all honesty, more of a stream, but it gurgled happily and there was a family of waterfowl sunning themselves on the bank.

Beside him Crowley cleared his throat. “So, uh, how does one do this? Do they eat the whole thing, or what?”

Aziraphale fussed. “No, of course not. They are not  _ snakes,  _ my dear. Their jaws do not work on hinges. You have to tear the bread into small pieces for them.”

Crowley smiled. “And then chuck it at them?” He pulled apart a reasonable sized piece and threw it with pinpoint accuracy. It bounced off the head of a brightly coloured duck who squawked.

Crowley grinned. “Yeah okay, maybe I can see the point of this.”

Aziraphale tried to sound stern. “I do not believe the point is to maim them, my dear.” 

“What?” Crowley asked. “Got to get in practice, don’t I? That what I’ll say if Hastur shows up while I’m chucking food at things that should  _ be  _ food. Target practice.”

“So long as you have your excuse then.” He hesitated. “Do you think it very likely? That a demon could appear?”

_ “I’m _ a demon, Angel.”

“You know what I mean.” 

“Nah,” Crowley said, but he wasn’t looking at Aziraphale. “Not so long as I check in regularly.”

“Me, too,” Aziraphale said, though he could not help but recall Gabriel appearing the day he opened the shop. “Not usually, at least.”

“Right, so like you said, we’ll just be careful,” Crowley went on. “The duck pond was a good idea. I like it.” He threw another piece of bread but the ducks were onto him this time. The colourful one turned and snatched it out of the air.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. He allowed himself a moment to look at Crowley. 

His face was turned in profile, his hair cut fashionable for the time. The voice in the back of his mind was trying to say something again. Aziraphale quieted it by tearing off a piece of bread. 

This, he thought, would have to be enough. 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue 

  
  


Aziraphale and Crowley took their leave from Darling House after lunch the following day. Crowley had forgone sleep in order to sneak into Aziraphale’s room with a purloined bottle of brandy, and they’d drunk themselves stupid as they had in the old days, no careful one cup or two but half a bottle each, and somehow more, for no matter how much they drank the level in the bottle never seemed to go down.

They sobered up when dawn stole in through the window, their argument over Handel versus Mozart tapering slowly off. They’d talked about everything and anything, and Aziraphale knew he would miss this when they met to feed the ducks at St James.

Crowley had offered him a ride in his carriage, but with the air of one who knew he’d be refused, and Aziraphale had been forced to do so. He could think of no reason for an angel to be accepting a lift from a demon, not across half of England, and it felt silly to risk their luck when they had already been so lucky so far.

They took their leave from the family, then, Crowley with a last soft word to Miss Darling and Mrs Darling smiling from afar. Aziraphale watched the Captain eyeing them in confusion. It was clear that Miss Darling had not told him specifically that she had called off the engagement, and so far as the Captain knew, Crowley was leaving for London only to return in a week or two.

Aziraphale’s good-byes were more of the general sort, though Miss Darling did squeeze his hand again and Mrs Darling smiled. It was Captain Elighton who seemed the most sad to see him go, for confession always brings a certain closeness, and Aziraphale was leaving him, so he must have felt, rather at loose ends.

“Buck up, dear boy,” Aziraphale said as they exchanged bows. “All will turn out well in the end.”

Captain Elighton grimaced. “From your mouth to God’s ear.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Just so.”

The Captain clasped his hands. He did not seem to know what to say. “Safe travels, Mr Fell.”

Aziraphale nodded and turned back to his carriage. It was a hired coach, not particularly fine, but with good, strong horses attached at the lead. He had his foot on the step when he heard Crowley say, “Oh  _ blast  _ it, Aziraphale. We forgot the bloody rose!”

Aziraphale turned to him in surprise. “Oh my goodness,” he said. “So we did!”

Mrs Winters looked positively shocked by the cursing, but Miss Darling only frowned. “The what?” she asked.

“The rose,” Aziraphale said, removing his foot from the step. “I am so sorry, Miss Darling. In all the excitement of meeting you and your family, I quite forgot to mention.”

“There is a rose,” Crowley said, with a glance at Aziraphale, “that your father wrote to us both very specifically about. A rare cross, I understand. He rather wanted us to see it.”

“Oh,  _ that _ rose,” Miss Darling said. “Yes, he was very proud of it, Mother, was he not?” She turned to Aziraphale and Crowley with a sad expression. “I am sorry to say that it did not make it.”

Aziraphale stared at her. “It did not what?”

“It died during its first winter. It could not be kept warm enough. My father tried all number of things and Mr Lowry, his gardner, far more. It broke my father’s heart to lose it.” 

“Oh,” Crowley said. “That is… unfortunate.” He turned to look at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale looked back at him, lost. “I — suppose Heaven made an error, then? An accounting problem, most like?”

Crowley almost smiled. “Are you saying that your side made a mistake?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth. Shut it again. “I — Err — ”

“Angel,” Crowley said, openly grinning now, “that might have made this whole bloody month actually worth it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Aziraphale muttered. “It could not have been a  _ mistake _ . It must have been — ”

“A blunder? A misreckoning? A slip-up?”

Aziraphale scowled. “You are enjoying this too much.”

Crowley leaned back against his carriage. “I think I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount.”

“Excuse me,” Miss Darling said. Aziraphale and Crowley looked back at her, “but what on earth are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale assured her with a quick glare at Crowley. “We are merely disappointed we did not get to see the rose after all.”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed. He was still grinning, the miscreant. “What he said.”

“I see,” Miss Darling said doubtfully. “Well then, safe journeys on your travels.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and meant it. He cast a quick blessing over the house. It would have to do for Heaven. “And a merry day to you all.”

  
  


*

  
  


They didn’t wait a decade before seeing each other. Aziraphale settled into his bookshop, made it a week, and then sent a missive to Crowley via messenger boy.  _ Meet me at the d.p? ~ A _

He fretted until the return letter arrived an hour later.  _ On my way _ .

St James’s Park was as busy as ever. Aziraphale had walked the grounds before, noting the prevalent foot traffic and agreed with his earlier conclusion that it was a good place to meet. In fact, if he hadn’t already been looking for him, Crowley might have passed by without Aziraphale noticing.

Well, no, of course he wouldn’t, but that was because Aziraphale was  _ always  _ watching for him, what with one thing or another. But any  _ other  _ angel would have, he was sure.

“‘Fraid I forgot to bring bread,” Crowley said when he’d found his way beside him. He spoke facing forward as though he were talking to the ducks more than to Aziraphale, and his hands were clasped loosely behind his back.

“Not to worry, I brought enough to share,” Aziraphale said and handed him a half loaf. Their fingers brushed at the contact. Aziraphale coughed. “Er, settled back in alright, have you?”

“Yes, quite,” Crowley said. “You? How’s the bookshop?”

“Oh, the same as always,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve got another shipment due next week.”

“If you don’t sell as many books as your buying you’ll soon run out of space,” Crowley said. Aziraphale didn’t need to look at him to see his smile.

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale countered. “There’s a second floor.”

Crowley laughed.

The ducks accepted their offerings. 

“So, hear anything more from your side?” Crowley finally asked.

“Not particularly,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley turned to glance at him. “You didn’t tell them about the rose?”

“I wrote it into a report,” Aziraphale countered. 

Crowley grinned. “Didn’t spell it out for them that they got buggered? That someone in Blessings 101 got it wrong?”

“It is not my place to point out errors in accounting,” Aziraphale said primly. 

Crowley shrugged. “If not you, then who?”

“Oh, some other angel, I expect,” Aziraphale said without much care.

Crowley was definitely looking over at him now. “No other angel could do what you do,” he said honestly.

Aziraphale blushed. “Foil your wiles, you mean?”

“Yeah,” said Crowley, facing forward again. He gave half of his bread back to Aziraphale. Their fingers brushed again, perhaps deliberately this time. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

They both watched the ducks for a moment. They broke their bread.

“Same time next week?” Aziraphale asked as lightly as he could manage.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Crowley promised.

He didn’t.

  
  


~ The End 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! A huge THANK YOU to everyone who read along as it was posted. I hope you all enjoyed it! I'm raiining on tumblr as well, if anyone wants to chat. It's mostly Good Omens these days ;)


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